Any Place at All
by Santana2
Summary: AU In which S.H.I.E.L.D. gets hacked and the Avengers aren't altogether sure what to make of the perpetrator, but they are definitely keeping him. T for light violence and blood.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** I am mainly doing this because a) I want to b) I've never written an AU or a chapter story I was proud of and wasn't just a collection of one-shots c) I feel there is just not enough teenage Tony out there d) I've searched and searched and sometimes if you want something bad enough you have to do it yourself.

Basically this is mostly for me and the fact that I want this story to exist, but I'll still try to do a good job. Also, please be warned, I've never written AU before so this may be sketchy. So, if you see any plot holes let me know, or you know just ignore it . . . Also, if anyone wants to Beta, I would love you forever.

**SOME THINGS YOU MAY WANT TO KNOW**

This is all happening before the events of _Avengers_ but the movie will probably be referenced all the same. I haven't decided if I will include the movie yet, that was just planning way too far ahead.

I'm still working out parts of the timeline here, but I do intend to explain it eventually.

The Avengers team is already assembled despite this happening before the movie.

Tony will most likely seem a bit out of character at first, just give it time. He's pretty much a kid here and kinda messed up and scared. Again, any noted mistakes please alert me to them.

Also, I know nothing about computers or hacking. Sorry.

**Disclaimer: **I'm skeptical of even claiming this story, much less the franchise.

* * *

S.H.I.E.L.D. had great security. The best, actually. The agents working to secure the organizations activities, classified information, and general secretive things that go along with running a secret organization, were brilliant, hand-picked, severely trained, top-of-the-line personnel. S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury and his right hand woman, Agent Hill would accept no less. Generally speaking the Director had faith (if spies really had such things) that S.H.I.E.L.D. was well protected from such blasé things as leaks or hacking.

Except, as of 0800 that morning, S.H.I.E.L.D was indeed, being hacked.

And quite thoroughly, at that.

Hill was pretty sure if she didn't murder the entire technical department Fury's head exploding would.

"How is this happening?" Hill asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I don't know, ma'am," Harris repeated harshly, "I've enacted every security protocol we have and some we don't, but whoever's doing this just blasts through all of it," Harris never looked up from his monitor, "Right now the best we can do is limit the damage." He glanced at Hill with an apologetic expression.

Hill closed her eyes a moment, blocking out the frenzy around her, "And what exactly will that damage be?"

"I won't know for sure until I get this under control and out of the system. But I can tell they seem to be targeting information from R&D and weapons manufacturing."

Hill's eyes snapped open, "Is there any way to track this person at least?" She had to give _some_ good news to Fury, no matter how trivial. A location would at least give them an edge on the hacker.

"I've got someone on it. They've taken a lot of precautions though. Whoever this is was well prepared."

Hill sighed and snapped, "Stop them. Now." Harris only acknowledged her with a nod as Hill swept out of the lab, dodging frantic Techs, to find Fury and report what was happening.

Oh, joy

* * *

"I think we both know what they're after, sir," Hill said as she finished explaining the situation to Fury. As far as she knew Harris and his tech team were finally managing to hold off the infiltration in the system and actually making some progress controlling the hacker.

"There's no way anyone but S.H.I.E.L.D. could know we have the Tesseract in our custody," Fury stood from behind his desk to the door, "And there's no way to be sure that's what they're after." Fury began to head down to Harris's lab, no doubt wanting to see this fiasco himself.

"Rumors spread, sir, and you know as well as I do that people have been shot for far less," Hill quickened her pace to walk along-side the Director, "Besides even if they were just attempting to get even the slightest glimpse of what we have on file, there's plenty of information to send them looking for it. The Tesseract has been the center of most of our research for months now."

Fury only glanced at her with his one good eye and sped up.

By the time they reached Harris's only slightly calmer lab, Agent Coulson had made it down. How he knew everything that was happening in S.H.I.E.L.D. at any given time would forever be a mystery to Hill, but she was more than often grateful for it.

Foregoing greeting Coulson, Fury instead barked for Harris, "Tell me you are getting this under control."

Harris looked up, finally, from his screen, "We are, sir," he seemed relieved that he was able to answer the affirmative, "But it was a close thing," Harris looked troubled again, "Frankly, Director, I don't think this was the hack we should be worried about."

Fury moved closer to the monitors lining the walls, "Explain."

"It was an exploratory hack, sir," Harris said quickly, "Feeling out our system, if you will. They didn't even look through anything direly important. It's like they just gave us a hard poke and then ran once we started poking back."

"Fits the pattern," Coulson spoke up suddenly.

Fury, Hill, and Harris all turned to the agent as Coulson held out a file for the Director.

"Now what?" Fury groused as he took the folder, flipping it open.

"Basically," Coulson began carefully, "We are not the first organization this has happened to. FBI, CIA, and few dozen others have been through the same treatment. Short probing at first, then the actual hack. These other agencies were slow in reporting these security breaches, however, because they don't have our early alert systems. So far, it doesn't seem like anything catastrophic has been seen or taken but we definitely have a serial hacker on our hands here. However, the good news seems to be that this is the first time this hacker has been deliberately confronted. It looks like they bit off more than they could chew with S.H.I.E.L.D," Coulson pointedly ignored Harris's smug expression, "Of course that doesn't mean they won't be better prepared the second time around." Harris's face fell a bit at that.

"Well, when can we expect the second hack?" Hill asked, reading over Fury's shoulder.

"Depends, I think," Coulson turned back to Harris and the screens, "On the hacker's assessment of our security and their plan of attack."

At this Harris huffed, "We blocked his progress this time and we can do it again. Plus we'll be prepared as well," he turned to one of the younger techs who immediately passed Harris some printed pages. "We have an approximate location. They're here in New York but so far we can only get you so close."

Fury took the proffered papers and scanned them, "This would have us covering over fifty miles. Can you narrow this down at all?"

Harris looked mildly insulted Fury even asked, "I'll do what I can, sir."

"Good," Fury passed the papers off to Hill who turned to continue discussing them with Harris, "Coulson," Fury began walking out of the room, Agent Coulson in tow, "I want you on field duty for this one. I want this taken care of with as little pain as possible."

"Yes, sir. I'd like to take Agent Barton as well."

"Fine. But be discreet, I'm not sure I want the entire team knowing about this just yet," Fury paused at Coulson's small, amused huff.

"Sorry, sir, but I doubt even I could keep anything from the Avengers for very long," Coulson said without a hint of sympathy.

"Just get to it, Agent," Fury groused and stalked away, "I want whoever this is in an interrogation room ready to be threatened in the next twenty-four hours."

"Understood, Director," Coulson mumbled and went to find Barton. He couldn't quite explain it but the Agent had a bad feeling about this whole mess.

* * *

**A/N: **I feel like this is a thousand times longer than any prologue should be, but that's what I'm gonna call it. Hopefully, we'll see Tony in the next chapter, I haven't decided yet.

Again first AU, so please be gentle but I would love some criticism of the constructive type.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Just FYI I am going to try and update this weekly, but I am notorious for my procrastination issues. But thanks for the response and now we meet Tony! Sort of.

Again, I have no beta, it's just me. So, any mistakes, please let me know.

* * *

"So, why am I sworn to silence about some unknown hacker?" Clint asked as he prepped his bow and quiver, mostly for precaution. He didn't think he would need his heavy artillery for this assignment but experience taught him to be prepared for anything. "You know Tasha probably already knows, anyway."

Coulson, who was driving the surveillance van, didn't take his eyes off the road as he answered, "Because we both know how sensitive Fury is about his security," he ignored Clint's snort, "And with the team being as new as it is – "

"He doesn't want to scare them off, basically," Clint interrupted.

"Basically," Coulson confirmed grudgingly, "It was already an ordeal getting Dr. Banner to agree to stay at SHIELD headquarters, and that was only after we promised to keep General Ross completely in the dark about his new location. Thor, of course, only stays because of the closer proximity to Jane Foster and the fact that he now feels personally responsible for the safety of earth now. And Captain Rogers – "

"Oh, do tell me more about _Captain America_, Coulson," Clint grinned.

"The _Captain_," Coulson repeated pointedly, sparing Hawkeye a short glare, "has only been back in the world for a short time after enduring a rather traumatic and . . . unusual experience. Fury's doing everything he can to make sure they feel as safe as possible."

Clint just hummed in response, "Somehow I doubt any of them feel really _safe_ anywhere. Especially a high security spy organization."

"Well, at least secure then," Coulson muttered.

"I think that's just playing semantics."

"Focus Barton," Coulson said calmly. He finally pulled the black van into an abandoned parking garage and parked. They both moved to the back, where the walls of the vehicle were lined with surveillance equipment. Coulson knew these things always made Hawkeye feel a little claustrophobic, but it came with the job. They were only within a few miles of the last known location of the hacker, but Harris was unfortunately unable to get any closer unless (until) the hacker attacked again. They were basically waiting for the perp to make the next move, which according to the pattern, should be in the next twenty-four hours, as Fury predicted. Until then all they could do was monitor the area for any suspicious activity.

* * *

"So why didn't you ask Romanoff to come along?" Clint asked to pass the time. Stake-outs were, after all, notoriously boring and they'd already been sitting there for about five hours, "It's cause I'm your favorite, right?" he needled, fiddling with one of his ever-present arrows.

Coulson didn't take his eyes from the screen he was watching. They had tapped into everything they could, from traffic cameras to private security. It was all displayed on various screens throughout the van that flicked occasionally to a new view.

"Fury wanted to keep this as quiet as possible, like I told you," Coulson reminded the archer, "Plus, you're more suited to covering long distances in a short amount of time. We still don't have an exact location on this person, as you know." Which was handler speak for _You're crazy enough to jump across rooftops and jump some poor unsuspecting hacker from above if he tries to run . . . Also, you're more fun on a stake-out._

Okay, that last part Clint added, but it was still true.

Still, Clint opened his mouth to see if he could coax his handler into naming a favorite when the alarm started blaring.

Coulson hit a few buttons that would connect him to Harris and SHIELD, "What's happening?"

"Hacker's on the move again," came Harris's slightly frantic voice through the headsets. It sounded like he was sitting in a beehive, a noise Coulson assumed was a riled technical and security department.

"Can you get an exact location yet?" Coulson demanded as collected as ever, as Hawkeye hoisted his bow onto his shoulder.

"Transmitting coordinates and street address to you now," Harris said, "R&D stocked you with a hand-held GPS tracker that should take you directly to the computer I'm tracking now. Good luck and hurry." With that Harris ended the call.

As the location flashed onto one of the screens, Coulson moved back into the driver's seat and aimed his next words at Clint, "I want you on lookout when we get there. I'll engage."

"Sure, I think you can handle one or two computer geeks on your own," Barton scoffed.

"One would hope," Coulson murmured and peeled out of the garage.

They drove like mad through rather crowded streets at first, but as they neared their destination, traffic thinned to almost nothing. Probably because any good confrontation had to happen in the dingiest part of town. When Coulson finally slowed in front of a seedy little apartment building, Hawkeye was already out of the car and half-way to his position. The remaining agent pulled around to the back of the building so as to hopefully avoid being seen too early.

The apartment complex was small, but Coulson still turned on a hand-held tracker that was supposed to lead him directly to the hacker's computer while Harris still had a read on him. The plan was Harris and his team would hold the perpetrator off as long as they could and Coulson and Barton would take him down from their end.

"Hawkeye?" Coulson held a hand to his ear, activating the comm. link there.

_In position_, was Barton's reply, _Opposite building, third floor_.

"Good," Coulson had already climbed to the third floor of the apartment building (because the place didn't even lock the back entrance he came through, much less have an elevator and Coulson was getting too old for this insanity) where the GPS in his hand was telling him the hacker was.

The tracker started flashing red which meant he was getting close and Coulson tried not to spare too much thought at how well Harris was holding up. Just a little farther and they'd be done with this whole mess. Somehow, though, Coulson still had that bad feeling.

The tracker signaled him and the agent stopped in front of a well worn door, "About to engage," he said into his earpiece and didn't wait for a reply as he proceeded to kick the door in.

Coulson immediately thought he had the wrong room.

At the crash of the door and the sight of a SHIELD Agent with a raised gun, the only thing that moved in the immediate space was a _kid_, or teenager really, but he barely looked old enough. The boy shot out of the cheap motel chair he'd been sitting in – in front of a laptop, making all sorts of odd noises – and froze at in the middle of the room. The kid hardly seemed like a threat, looking around 14 or 15 and thin as a rail. Still, strangely intelligent eyes watched Coulson from under uncut dark hair.

Coulson stared at the youth for a moment as the kid stared back, then lowered his gun just a fraction, "Please don't tell me that a kid is responsible for breaking into one of the most highly secured organizations in the world." He heard a distant _What! _through the comm. but chose to ignore it for now.

Obviously, that threw the boy for a moment as he opened his mouth and closed in again without answer.

But just then another voice answered for him, "You would be surprised, Agent Coulson."

Another person walked in from an adjoined bedroom. Two persons, actually, both men and with guns raised to mimic Coulson.

"He's a very talented young man," the blonde one in the lead said and pointed his gun at Coulson while the larger man behind him pointed his weapon at the boy still frozen next to the computer. The kid's eyes widened and Coulson could practically see him begin to shake.

_Boss,_ Hawkeye's business voice broke through Coulson's comm., _Do I take them out._

Before Coulson could form a response, however, the blonde man in front continued with a sad expression, "Unfortunately, the little prodigy has outlived his usefulness to me."

The man with the gun pointed towards the boy then proceeded to fire.

And that's pretty much when all hell broke loose in that tiny apartment.

Immediately there was a pained cry and an arrow in the shooter's shoulder. There was more shouting and Coulson had to duck for cover at the sound of more gunfire; this time aimed at him, but began firing back as soon as he was able. He heard the blonde man yell something about the fire escape and saw another arrow lodge in the wall right where the blonde's head was a moment before. Coulson continued to fire as well, but the men had fled back to the other room.

Coulson began to follow the men, gun still raised, when something he almost forgot about entered his peripheral vision.

The boy.

Coulson turned to see the teenager slumped against the desk he had been working at, still conscious but probably going into shock. The man who shot him must not have been a very good shot, or wasn't really looking to kill the kid, because he'd hit the boy in the stomach. The boy was gasping slightly and holding his shaking hands over the entry point, blood slowly soaking his t-shirt and pooling on the floor. His intelligent brown eyes were wide in disbelief and panic as he stared down at the blood soaking his hands.

"Hawkeye," Coulson barked into the comm. as he immediately forgot about the gunmen and his pursuit to kneel next to the boy. The agent moved the teenager's hands away in order to better apply pressure with his own. He was loosing a lot of blood and his face was unnaturally pale.

_Already in pursuit, boss. They headed out the fire escape to a vehicle. Where are you?_ Barton replied, obviously running.

"Never mind them," Coulson ordered.

_What? But, Coulson –_

"I have a civilian down," Coulson interrupted, trying to covey as much urgency as he could, "Gunshot to the stomach. I need you to get to the van, call an ambulance, and alert SHIELD medical to the nearest hospital." Coulson knew this was part of what the two men wanted, to slow the agents down, but he didn't care when there was a kid bleeding in front of him. At the unnatural tone of his handler's voice Barton no longer hesitated.

_Yes, sir,_ and after a few precious minutes Coulson heard the archer speaking into the van's radio.

Coulson ignored it in favor of keeping the kid awake, "Hey. Hey, kid, look at me. What's your name?"

The boy reluctantly looked up and seemed almost surprised to see Coulson there, ". . . What?" Coulson barely heard the word as the boy's breathing was so labored. This close, now, the agent could see some discoloration around the boy's jaw. A fading bruise.

"I'm Agent Phil Coulson. With SHIELD," The Agent continued, worrying at the amount of blood seeping through his fingers, "You might remember us from when you were trying to . . . you know, hack us. Will you tell me your name?"

The kid seemed to have a hard time grasping the question which was understandable, considering the fresh gunshot wound and all, but finally answered, ". . . Tony," with a gasp.

Coulson nodded and was about to ask something else, when he heard a choked, "'m sorry," from the kid.

The Agent glanced up from the wound in surprise, "Sorry for what Tony?" he could just hear sirens coming down the street.

"I only –," Tony paused to take a shaky breath, "Only did . . . what they asked." Then Coulson felt something small and plastic pressed into his hand, which was alarming because said hand was still covering the boy's wound. He looked down to see a blood-covered flash-drive in his equally bloody palm.

"What's –," But Coulson didn't get to finish before Barton burst in, trailed by a team of paramedics and a stretcher. Tony was losing consciousness by then and was deathly pale.

Barton swore under his breath when he walked in and saw the boy on the floor.

Coulson moved away only when the paramedics told him to and even then he was reluctant. He stood for a moment debating with himself.

Finally, Coulson looked to Clint and held up the drive Tony had given him, "I want to know what this is," Coulson said low enough the medics couldn't hear, "Get it to Harris safely. And tell them to get a team down here to collect the evidence in that room before those guys get any ideas about cleaning up after themselves."

"I take it you'll be taking a personal interest from here," Clint said it like a statement as he watched the paramedics put an IV in Tony's arm. Coulson didn't answer. Barton just nodded knowingly and took the flash-drive from him. He was gone before the medics even saw the exchange.

When they put Tony on the stretcher and wheeled him down to the ambulance (quite a feat, Coulson thought, going down three flights of stairs while holding an IV drip) Coulson stopped them before they closed the back doors.

"I'm riding with him," Coulson said in his best _I-am-a-SHIELD-agent-and-I-will-be-obeyed_ voice.

The medic gave him a skeptical look, "Are you –"

"As of right now I am responsible for this boy," Coulson said forcefully, stepping into the ambulance and holding up his SHIELD badge, "He is legally in SHIELD custody. We can work out the particulars when the kid's stable."

The medics seemed to readily accept that answer, pulled the doors closed, and sped toward the nearest hospital.

Coulson watched the boy – watched _Tony_ – struggling on the stretcher as the medics radioed the ER that they were bringing in a gunshot victim.

What he'd said to the medic was technically true as he was responsible for bringing the hacker into SHIELD custody.

But the fact was Barton was right, too. Coulson tended to take these things a bit personally. He'd never actually admit it to anyone but he knew it. Coulson could handle a mission gone wrong, that was one thing. He never did handle the . . . collateral damage very well though.

So, yes, Coulson was taking this personally, and he knew he shouldn't do that. But until he knew the kid was safe, Tony would be Coulson's responsibility.

And Barton would probably never let him live it down.

* * *

A/N: Feel like Coulson is a bit OOC. Anyway, I know there's not really a lot from Tony but I'm still setting up for some stuff.

Also, anyone who thinks there might be some big deep plot to this . . . There's really not, honestly. I try to throw in a little, but frankly this is all an excuse for teen Tony angst. Hope that's okay and who knows something might develop but I doubt it.

The team (or parts of it) will likely be in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Alright, please note that I did some (really not nearly as much as I should have) research on gunshot wounds to the stomach, but this will still be a _very_ vague and inexpert description. If you are a part of the medical community, feel free to toss in an opinion. Let's just say our boy is a lucky one. But hey he survived basically heart surgery in the middle of the desert, who's really looking for realism here, honestly?

This chapter's a long one guys, but I wanted to make up for being late. Busy week and all. And apparently when I said "we will hear from the team in this chapter" my muse took "team" to mean "Natasha and Bruce." The muse is determined to move at a snail's pace but I'm gonna go with it . . . for now. Little more action next chapter maybe. Maybe.

* * *

The kid, or Tony, as Coulson had found out, immediately went into surgery upon arriving at the hospital. The bullet had gone straight through his torso leaving doctors to assess and repair the damage in the OR. He needed blood, obviously, and they were treating him for shock. The hospital couldn't tell them anything else until they got Tony out of surgery and in the ICU.

The surgery took hours but Coulson sat patiently waiting for his newest self-appointed charge to come back out. Hopefully safe and as sound as one could be after being shot.

Clint waited with him of course. As soon as he got back from handling Coulson's last orders, Barton went straight to the waiting room to take up the vigil with his handler.

Frankly, Clint was feeling like a complete and utter failure. He should have taken those two out the moment he saw that they were a threat. It was a wonder Coulson got out without a scratch, although that was probably because the men were more interested in getting away, than engaging an armed agent.

"Stop thinking so loud, Barton, some of us are actually trying to be useful here," Coulson said mildly, not looking up from his SHIELD issued laptop.

"Am I that obvious?" Clint asked, more lightly than he felt, "That's not good with me being a spy and all."

"It's not good to blame yourself for something you can't fix, either," Phil said matter-of-factly.

Instead of putting up pretense, Clint simply responded, "I shouldn't of – "

"You did exactly what you should have," Coulson interrupted, finally looking up at the archer, "I engaged, and was therefore responsible for assessing the threat. You waited for me to give you the go-ahead, which I probably wouldn't have even if those guys gave me the chance, anyway," he looked back at the screen in his lap, "That situation was out of our control before we even got there. Now stop worrying, I'm busy."

Clint half-smiled at his handler's "scolding" and leaned closer to the computer to see what Coulson was doing. Never let it be said Coulson wasted a moment. The screen was full of missing persons reports, matching Tony's description.

"He didn't have any identification on him, or in the room. Not surprising," Coulson said, again reading Clint's thoughts, "And he only gave me his first name, which isn't a lot to go on. He may not even be originally from New York for all we know."

Coulson flipped the screen down and set the laptop aside. The only real sign of frustration the agent would show. He leaned his head back in the (thankfully) cushioned waiting room chair and closed his eyes. Coulson had, at some point, changed into a clean, not-bloody suit. He reached up to massage his temples as he asked, "What's the news on the flash-drive?"

Clint sighed, "I handed it off to a cadet who handed it off to Harris who is still trying to get through the encryption. Apparently, your new guilt-trip baby is in a league of his own when it comes to computers and all that geek stuff."

"Well, I figured . . . Hang on, my new, _what_?" Phil lifted his head to give Clint his best glare.

Clint just smiled, "You know, this thing you do, occasionally? Find a hurting, yet somehow exceptional, young person – for example a circus kid with killer aim with a bow or certain red-heads with an unhealthy love of knives – and take them in, nurture them, show them their true potential – "

"Please stop, now," Coulson closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I do not do that. And _you're_ the one who brought Romanoff in; I had nothing to do with that."

"No, but you did convince Fury to let her stay and not shoot her on sight," Clint said innocently.

Coulson glared some more, "He is not my baby. None of you are my babies."

"That's hurtful. And untrue. You are sitting in a hospital waiting on the kid like a worried daddy," Clint scoffed, "You've practically drawn up adoption papers."

Coulson was about to start another protest when a doctor in surgical scrubs walked into the room, looking tired but alert. The doctor made eye contact with Phil and the agent stood and strode over quickly. Clint just watched from his chair as the doctor began his explanation to Coulson and asked questions. Coulson at one point took out his badge again and the doctor nodded in acceptance before saying a few more things and left back the way he came.

Phil came back over and sat in his previously vacated seat, "That kid is either hiding a super-power or has some kind of higher being looking after him." Which meant the kid was alive at the very least.

Clint suddenly experienced a strange moment of relief. The kind where he hadn't even realized how anxious he was about something until it was finally resolved.

"How is he?" Barton asked in a steady voice.

"Well, the bullet went through the left side of his torso and did some internal damage on the way through," Coulson explained, "The doctor said he's lucky. It didn't hit his spine or other major arteries. They're still going to have to be careful – infection is their major concern, he said – and the surrounding tissue damage, but otherwise it was reparable. We'll be able to move him to SHIELD medical and intensive care in a few days, maybe a week. They still have to treat the blood loss and shock, but he's been responding pretty well, the doctor says, even if he hasn't woken up yet."

Clint let out a low whistle and sat back in his chair, more relief flooding his system. Then he looked up in slight surprise, "Wait, SHIELD medical?" He cocked an eyebrow at Coulson.

"He's a major part of an ongoing investigation, Barton, and a witness who's been threatened. We'll need him close and under our protection," Coulson said reasonably, pulling his phone out to make the arrangements with Fury, ignoring Clint's growing smirk.

"Yeah, sure, or Papa wants baby boy home as soon as possible," Clint mumbled, shaking his head.

"Shut up, Barton, or you're grounded," Coulson said irritably and walked away with his phone to his ear.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff did not like being left out of the loop. Not at all.

Which is why, when Coulson and Barton left on a secret operations that only Fury and Hill knew the specifics of, she set about finding those specifics for herself. Fury could yell at her later if he wanted, but honestly he should just expect these things by now. Trying to keep secrets from a spy and all that.

She found out about the hacker from one of Harris's underlings, who practically peed himself before she even asked a question. The next day the Black Widow waylaid a much sturdier (but not sturdy enough) cadet who was actually on an errand from Hawkeye himself.

Natasha learned from him that the mission had gone pear-shaped rather quickly _but neither Agent Barton or Agent Coulson were injured, ma'am, I swear,_ but there were more people involved than the two senior agents originally realized. Which meant that _someone_ had been injured and they were important enough to keep Coulson and Barton occupied and away from headquarters. The cadet didn't really know anything else, other than there was a team cleaning out an apartment room and bringing everything into evidence.

Hm. Well, that's something, then.

Natasha waited until the lab techs took their lunch break to walk in and have a look at things herself. It wasn't like she wouldn't be allowed to go into the labs, honestly, no one could get mad at her for this one. Not that she really cared if they got mad anyway, so whatever.

As she suspected the boxes of newest evidence were sitting in plain sight on the tables, ready to be picked through and examined. Natasha found some latex gloves and opened one of the boxes. There wasn't much inside and what was there was very care-worn. The main thing was an old duffel bag that looked like someone had inexpertly patched it quite a few times and definitely dragged it through more than a few dirty streets.

Slipping on the gloves she lifted the bag out of its evidence box and quickly unzipped it. Clothes, which most likely belonged to a young person by the look of all the AC/DC and Black Sabbath t-shirts, took up most of the space. Probably a boy, the spy thought, as a girl might be a bit more meticulous about some of those holes in the clothes, but that was speculating.

Tasha sifted through sparse contents of the bag, finding other ordinary things, toothbrush, comb, cheap snacks, other knickknacks people travel with, until her fingers brushed against something different. She reached in again and pulled it out. A picture frame. Holding an old, somewhat faded photo of a dark haired woman with kind, hazel eyes, holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.

Well, if there was one thing Natasha could deduce from the bag itself was that the duffel belonged to a runaway kid. Packed lightly, with only the essentials, practically no money to be found, and only one picture of someone special, possibly this person's mother. So, what did that mean? They had a kid with a particularly high IQ breaking into government systems for kicks? If that were the case he'd be sitting in one of the holding cells right now or an interrogation room. And Natasha would have known about it because Clint and Phil would be back to turn him in.

Natasha sighed. There was nothing else in the bag of any real interest, except a laptop that she could try to get into if she had an extra hour, and strange excess of nuts and bolts laying around for a runaway.

"Everything alright?" A voice suddenly sounded behind her.

Natasha turned, surprised and annoyed at the same time and for the same reason. There, still standing awkwardly in the doorway, was Dr. Bruce Banner in all his unassuming, unthreatening glory.

"I didn't hear you come in," Natasha said with more irritation than she meant to.

"Oh," Bruce glanced down at his feet and then back at her, "I'm sorry?"

"Its fine," Tasha's annoyance evaporated as she went back to the evidence boxes, "That's just very hard to do. So, congratulations, I guess."

She sensed more than saw Dr. Banner walk into the room and start to rummage through the shelves when something else occurred to her.

"I thought everyone was at lunch," she stated, looking over her shoulder at the doctor.

He tensed slightly at that and so did the Black Widow. A tense Dr. Banner could lead to some unfortunate . . . things. Big, green, and angry things.

He relaxed almost immediately, though, and glanced back up at her with a bland smile, "They are. I just needed some things and prefer to come in when it's less . . . crowded."

"You freak everyone out in other words," Tasha said bluntly.

Bruce cocked an eyebrow at her but nodded once, "Basically."

"Hm," by then Natasha was going through the second box of evidence and found nothing else useful to tell her anything about the hacker.

She huffed loudly and slapped the lid back down on the box a little too forcefully.

"Is all that sighing about the hacker Agent Coulson went after?" Dr. Banner asked from behind her.

Natasha was less than surprised at that, "Ok, how do you know about the hacker?" She turned to him and leaned her hip against the table as she crossed her arms.

Bruce grabbed some beakers and shrugged, "Harris's staff really needs a lesson in proper workplace discussion," he paused and smiled a little wider, "And how loudly they talk in the hallways and cafeteria." He walked over to the other side of the table to look into the duffle bag.

"Right," Again, Natasha was not surprised, "No, secrets in a spy organization," she waved her hand at the boxes and said, "All I can find out is that the hacker's probably a male teenager, runaway with a high IQ. There's no identification or – "

"Did the hacker make this?" Bruce suddenly asked, pulling the laptop out and setting it on the table, looking it over.

Instead of worrying whether or not Banner was tampering with evidence, Natasha walked around to Bruce's side of the table, "What do you mean?" She asked even though she was already seeing the answer for herself.

Bruce began to confirm was she was seeing anyway, "Well, there are tool marks around the casing," Banner trailed off, then looked around for something to pry the top off. Natasha pulled a knife out of her boot and handed it to the doctor, "Oh. Um, thanks." He took it hesitantly and began to carefully pry the plastic up and off, "Yeah, see? He just put his own hardware into an old laptop casing. I can't say much more than that, computers aren't really my forte – "

"No, you're right," Natasha distantly realized she was running out of time before everyone got back from lunch, but she didn't care and reached for the computer, "It's probably a long shot, if this guy is as good as they say, but if I can get into this laptop, maybe I can – " she froze when she opened the laptop to see the keyboard and heard Bruce suck in a small breath behind her.

The laptop was splattered with what could only be congealed blood mostly to one side. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to reach a conclusion.

"Guess now we know who was injured," Natasha said quietly.

* * *

It was three days before Coulson managed to talk the doctors into letting him move Tony into SHIELD medical located several miles away at headquarters. And that was only after he pretty much threatened to have the hospital staff arrested for endangering a witness. Which Coulson couldn't actually do, because the doctor was technically just doing his job by keeping Tony in the hospital, but the staff didn't need to know that. As far as Coulson was concerned, if Tony could be moved without further aggravating his condition, then there was no reason he couldn't be moved to SHIELD medical.

Of course, Coulson did actually feel the kid was in danger here. Or, and he was loath to think it, maybe Clint was right and he felt guilty and paranoid about this entire situation.

Right. Before that line of thought could get out of hand, Coulson reminded himself that his feelings on the matter didn't affect anything, because it was Fury who wanted the kid close by, too. He was a witness and active participant in a serious security breach within SHIELD. Tony needed to be looked after. So, there, Barton.

None of that stopped Coulson from feeling a bit relieved when they loaded the boy into a waiting ambulance to finally be taken to the much more secure SHIELD facilities.

Tony had only woken up a few times after his surgery. Each time he'd either panicked and had to be sedated or was too disoriented to make sense. Even though Coulson had posted guards outside Tony's door Clint and Phil had some silent agreement that they would take turns sitting with the kid. Fury wasn't particularly happy that two of his best agents were 'playing nurse-maids to some punk kid causing chaos in my security' but Coulson got a heck of a lot of paperwork done in that time so Fury let it slide.

When he'd asked, the doctors had told Coulson that Tony had other, much more minor injuries. Nothing life-threatening, but concerning all the same. Mostly bruising, all of it fading like the bruise Coulson had seen on his jaw, except for a rather large one discoloring the right side of his rib-cage. As well as some disturbing marks along his wrists that suggested restraints were used at some point. The hackings had been going on for a series of months but Coulson had no way of knowing how long Tony had been with those men or what could have happened during that time until Tony woke up properly. The doctors were still on the lookout for infection and Tony still had dark circles under his eyes from the blood loss. The poor kid wouldn't even be in shape to be out of bed for weeks as it was.

They made it to SHIELD headquarters without incident, which Coulson was thankful for. Both Phil and Clint followed behind the ambulance this time, with a police escort that Barton had barely contained his laughter over ("_Seriously, Phil?_" "_Shut up, Hawkeye, it's standard procedure_.").

As Tony was wheeled into the ICU, Clint and Phil followed. Neither of the two agents were surprised to be greeted, not just by Fury, but Natasha as well. The Russian stood quietly behind the Director and only raised an eyebrow as she watch the boy be whisked into the safety of hospital walls again.

Fury on the other hand spoke up as soon as Coulson was in ear shot, "I trust you know what you're doing, bringing a known criminal hacker into my agency?" And no, Coulson was not going to acknowledge how Fury's one good eye slid over to where Barton was talking quietly to Romanoff a short distance away.

"Yes, sir," Coulson responded instead, "And once you read my report, I think you'll understand." Phil held out said report, which Fury took with only a hint of a smile.

"Agent Coulson, you can just tell me things. They don't _have _to come in an official report every, single time," Fury flipped the file open.

"Wouldn't want to set a bad example," Coulson mumbled under his breath as Fury turned away and Phil moved on to his next targets.

"Romanoff," Coulson called as he walked up to the two assassins, "You're officially on this case with me and Barton. I know you went through evidence already and Barton can catch you up on the rest. I want the two of you out tracking down the men that got away from us. We already have people on it, but they're not making much headway." That, and Coulson knew Clint would like nothing better than to catch the two responsible for their new charge's condition.

Clint did indeed grin, as Natasha simply nodded, apparently unsurprised or uninterested in how Coulson knew about her little extracurricular activities.

"And I would like to know where your accomplice, Dr. Banner, is," Coulson continued.

Natasha's lips twitched in what might have been a smile, "Where he always is," she shrugged, "Hiding in the labs, working on that research Fury has him doing."

Coulson nodded, "Well, get to it, then. I have to go make sure a guard is posted outside Tony's room." He walked off at a brisk pace in the direction Tony's stretcher had gone.

Tasha watched the handler hurry away with a raised eyebrow, "Tony?" She looked to Clint for an answer even thought she thought she already knew it.

Clint shrugged and turned the opposite way Coulson had gone, "Our new baby brother. I'll explain on the way." Natasha followed him out when she was done rolling her eyes.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm actually not sure how Natasha came to SHIELD; I've only read in few places that Clint was the one to give her a second chance. Feel free to correct me but that's what I'm going with here, because that is just freaking adorable.

Also, since a few people asked the two stories suggested to me by the lovely **Linzphantom** were _Apropos of Nothing_ by gir_hugs and _Childhood is the Kingdom where Nobody Dies_ by Memory Dragon (not teen/Tony but a good kidfic). Haven't finished _Apropos_ yet, but both are great stories if you like little Tony.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Finally, we hear from Tony. The muse has decided to work with me a little here. But for some reason that means these chapters keep getting longer.

* * *

Tony felt himself drifting back to consciousness but didn't open his eyes or move just yet. He knew something had happened, something he wasn't quite willing to wake up to yet, so he figured he'd be still for a minute and gather his wits. Not that it would help with the whole "facing reality" bit, but he could dream.

His head felt like it was wrapped in cotton and his thoughts were sluggish. That was probably why he had the briefest moment of panic while he lay there, eyes closed and unmoving, wondering for one ridiculous second if maybe he _couldn't _– maybe he'd been blinded or paralyzed or some other horrific fate had befallen him.

Maybe he was dead.

Tony forced himself to snap out of those thoughts and promptly opened his eyes (_ok, not blind, that's good_) and proceeded to wiggle his fingers and toes (_not paralyzed, either. Even better_). And he quickly disproved the idea that he was dead, because while Tony was not an expert on theology or theories about the afterlife, he was pretty sure it didn't look like a small, white hospital room.

He could feel an almost too firm matress beneath him and hear a heart monitor somewhere over his head and could smell that universal cleaner that all medical facilities used. Tony wondered if whoever had invented said cleaner had intentionally made it smell like the creepiest thing on the planet or if that was just him.

He realized distantly that all these thoughts occurred to him far too slowly, but he was more preoccupied with what exactly had gotten him into a hospital in the first place. Maybe Acker and his giant brute had finally done something to land him here, whether they liked it or not. But that didn't make sense because he couldn't remember disagreeing with them about anything lately.

Right about then, his muddled brain made a decision without his consent. Tony did not want to be here.

He no longer cared what had gotten him in a hospital room, but the last thing he remembered was being in the same general area as Acker and the most likely scenario involved Acker, his temper, and Tony not getting out of the way quick had happened, he was making his escape _now_.

As soon as he remembered how to get out of bed.

Finally, Tony decided sitting up would be a good start and did so. Or tried to.

The second he moved a white hot _pain_ shot through him so fast he collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for air.

If Tony had been thinking more clearly, he might have been more concerned about that. But he was nothing if not stubborn and his cloudy head was telling him to _get the heck out of here, right now_.

Tony had never liked hospitals. Not when he was sent to the ER when Tommy Wilkins gave him a split lip and a broken nose after Tony had called him a "brainless, uninspired twit with an IQ that would insult a squirrel," and not when the foster mother who insisted he call her "Auntie" sent him to the psych ward after he explained to her the science behind computers with minds of their own. Hospitals were where they sent you when they didn't understand. And Tony hated them.

A minute later Tony wasn't sure how he got on his knees on the floor or why his arm suddenly hurt because the pain in his stomach was back with a vengeance, taking up all his attention, and he had to stop and catch his breath, again.

Nevertheless, he managed to get to his feet (which he was quite surprised by, himself) by clinging to the wall.

Alright, good, on feet. Next step: locate door.

Tony chose to see it as a sign of good fortune that the door was on the same wall he was using as a crutch. Then again the room was kind of starting to . . . spin . . .

Escape was not going to be as easy as he thought.

* * *

If Steve was objectively honest with himself, there were worse places he could be.

For someone who'd spent seventy years frozen in ice (and, yes, Steve was having a heck of a time coming to grips with that one), SHIELD was an ideal place to "acclimate" himself to the new world he found himself in.

SHIELD had not only given him a place to live, they'd assigned him a counselor, and pretty much gave him free range (with a list of exceptions, of course) of all the facilities.

But Steve _was_ being honest with himself, and he found the whole place almost unbearably suffocating.

He didn't mind living in headquarters but he hardly ever left, partly because everything was so _different_ and partly because he was scared. Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, would never admit it out loud, and barely to himself, but he was scared. And, no, he hadn't spoken to that counselor he was assigned, except when they'd introduced her, and frankly, he couldn't even remember if her name was Dr. Daniels or Dr. Samuels. Steve wasn't sure if he cared. To top off the whole situation, the only places he went within SHIELD facilities were his room, the gym, and the cafeteria, on a repeat cycle that he couldn't seem to break.

He didn't even eat or workout with anybody, even though Agent Coulson had set up his schedule so Steve had to eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner with, at most, four other people in the cafeteria. Nevertheless, he, Dr. Banner, Thor (when he was actually in town), and the two spies Black Widow and Hawkeye, all ate at separate tables in different corners. Avoiding eye contact. The spies were the only ones who sat together, and they seemed in no hurry to make nice either. Oh, and there were aliens and giant green monsters now. Yeah.

In Steve's opinion, the whole thing was suffocating _and_ sad _and _he only had himself to blame for the most part. But he couldn't seem to break from it.

Which was why, Steve was currently en route to the elevator, where he would press the button to take him down to the gym, hit things that couldn't feel it for a few hours, then go eat an awkward lunch, and repeat until dinner and bed. Where he didn't really sleep anyway.

Steve stopped that train of thought before he could get physically sick.

The Captain sighed quietly in the empty hallway as he pressed the button to call up the lift. When the doors opened with a far too cheerful _ding_, he hoisted his gym bag higher on his shoulder and stepped into the elevator, grateful no one else was awake at this hour. One thing that hadn't changed was that Steve was and always would be a naturally early riser. Normally that meant he could make his morning walk to the gym in solitude.

Therefore, Steve was a bit surprised when the lift stopped and the doors opened.

And more than shocked at who entered.

A boy, who couldn't have been older than fifteen at best, stumbled into the elevator and fell, quite literally, against the back wall. The kid seemed to take no notice of Steve and collapsed, breathless, in the far corner of the lift, the hospital gown he was wearing slipping down too thin shoulders. He was holding his stomach and the bend of his right elbow was bleeding, the tape from an IV still hanging off his skin. He closed his eyes and Steve saw deep purple bags under them.

Steve distantly noticed the doors closing and ignored it in favor of dropping his bag and taking the two quick steps over to the boy.

He reached out to the kid, not sure what he was reaching for, saying, "Hey, easy there, what happened?"

The boy finally noticed the other presence in the lift and immediately panicked, brown eyes growing wide, "_Don't _. . . go'way –," was all he gasped out before swatting at Steve's hands with all the strength of a new-born kitten. His voice sounded like he'd been gargling with gravel.

Steve took the hint all the same, "Ok, I won't touch you," he said quickly, and with great effort withdrew his hands, "Are you hurt?" It was a stupid question, but it was the best Steve could do at the moment. He didn't know where the boy had come from or what he was doing in SHIELD headquarters in the first place.

The boy only did his best to glare at Steve, "Don't . . . touch . . . me." He had to take a wheezing breath before every word, and that greatly worried Steve. That and he could see a red spot growing on the boy's hospital gown right where his arm was covering.

"Look," Steve said, glancing up as the elevator lurched to a stop and the lights turned red, "I promise, I will not hurt you, but you're bleeding. Let me help." Steve tried to emphasize each word to convey his sincerity. The elevator began to move again on its own, going up the way it had come. He didn't know what the elevator was doing, but figured it meant someone had noticed the kid's absence and switched on an emergency program or something. SHIELD had a lot of those.

The kid gave Steve a strange look, somewhere between distrust and disbelief and something else Steve couldn't identify. Finally, the boy seemed to give in and shuddered out a breath as his hand fell from his stomach. His head fell back against the wall with a muffled _thud _and his eyes closed again.

The Captain reached out and pulled the boy's gown up; vaguely glad he was wearing boxers underneath to maintain some of the kid's dignity. The blood was seeping from under a once white bandage that Steve carefully pulled away. The boy had ripped some stitches. Stitches to what Steve wasn't sure but he knew enough about field medicine to guess it was a bullet wound. That thought was more alarming than the boy's unknown presence in SHIELD. He had to be in immense pain, but he'd managed to get all the way here, which was both worrying and impressive.

He looked up at the kid's pale face, slightly surprised to see the boy watching him back with narrowed eyes, "It's going to be okay," Steve said as earnestly as he could, "You're safe with me." He didn't have time to contemplate why he felt the need to say that, because the elevator doors opened to a very disgruntled SHIELD agent.

The agent, whom Steve had never seen (but that wasn't unexpected), raised an eyebrow at the scene in the lift like it was a curious street show and said, "Oh, good, you caught him."

Steve couldn't put his finger on it but he immediately did not like how the agent said "caught".

The Captain stayed on his knees next to the boy but straightened his spine and lifted his chin in his best official manner, "I take it you are responsible for . . ." he tilted his head toward the injured teenager.

"Oh, this boy is," the man suddenly looked uncomfortable, and Steve wished he would get on with it, "the boy is _technically_ a prisoner, Captain."

"_Prisoner_?" Steve actually almost laughed at that, but didn't have the time to dwell, "Right, never mind, where's the doctor?" He finally noticed that this was indeed the medical wing. The boy whimpered lowly at that and Steve returned his gaze to him. Steve moved closer to the boy and said quietly, "It's okay. I'm going to pick you up now, is that alright?"

Wide brown eyes stared at Steve for a moment of indecision. The kid finally nodded although he remained stiff as Steve put one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees and lifted ever so carefully. The boy gasped but was otherwise silent.

Steve turned with the boy held securely in his arms, but anger flared in him when he saw the same agent just standing there, watching.

Steve drew up his best Captain America voice and barked, "The _doctor_, agent." The man actually jumped a bit, but ran off to find someone to tend the boy. Meanwhile Steve stepped out of the elevator and stepped into the hallway. There were a few cots lining the corridor but Steve couldn't bring himself to release the boy just yet. The Captain felt the kid's head reluctantly rest on his shoulder and a shaky hand grip the front of his gym shirt.

The Captain finally turned as the steps grew closer and was surprised yet again to see, not a doctor, but Agent Phil Coulson looking more harried than Steve had ever seen on the normally placid man.

Coulson looked almost as surprised to see Steve, "Captain," Coulson nodded to him and looked down at the boy still barely conscious in his arms, "I see you've met Tony." So, the kid actually had a name then, other than "prisoner".

The other, nameless, agent chose that moment to hurry back with the doctor and two nurses in tow. The doctor immediately went to Steve and Tony taking in the red patch on the kid's scrubs.

"Follow me," the doctor said briskly and hurried down the hall. He led Steve into a room that must have previously held Tony. The bed was slept-in, the heart monitor screeching, and a bloody IV hanging from one side. Steve felt Tony's face press into his shoulder.

The doctor indicated for Steve to place Tony on the bed. The soldier knew the boy wouldn't like that, but set him down gently anyway. When the boy clung a bit longer Steve whispered, "I know, I'm not going anywhere, you're safe . . ." and some other nonsense before Tony finally released his shirt. At last Steve stepped back, but not out of sight of Tony, to let the doctor assess his patient.

"Just a few ripped stitches," the doctor said quietly to one of the nurses, "But the skin around them is looking infected. Get me the suture kit and antibiotics to add to his IV. And morphine." One of the nurses hurried off while the other stayed and tried to keep Tony from moving. The kid obviously hated this entire situation but seemed to finally understand his condition.

Steve grimaced in understanding as he tuned into what the unnamed agent was saying to Coulson. Both had followed them to the room and now stood just outside the doorway.

" – only walked away for a second, sir, he was just gone – "

"So, you were outwitted by an injured, practically delirious teenager. Who also happens to be in SHIELD protective custody and more importantly _my _custody. That's what you're saying?" The man tried to answer but Coulson shook his head before the other man could say anything, "You know what, I don't care, you're off guard duty. Who is your relief?"

"I'll watch him." And, no, Steve did not actually make the conscious decision to say that, but walked up to Coulson with confidence anyway.

Coulson twitched an eyebrow, obviously taken aback, "Captain, that's not necessary. I'm sure this was just a minor slip . . ." he trailed off as he glared at the other agent from the corner of his eye. The man did the smart thing and scurried away while he had the chance.

Steve shook his head, "It wasn't a question of security, Agent Coulson."

"I couldn't ask you to – "

"What else do I have to do?" Steve interrupted only a little bitterly. And he was beginning to see why not talking to people on a regular basis was a bit not good, because things tended to just slip out of his mouth. He blinked and tried to start over, "What I mean is I don't mind watching him. If he's under SHIELD protection I would consider it my job, wouldn't you?" The Captain could also admit to himself that he honestly didn't trust anyone else at SHIELD to guard a vulnerable teenager if the former guard was anything to by.

Fortunately, Coulson considered it and seemed to come to the same conclusion. The agent nodded slowly, "I appreciate it, Captain," then he sighed as he watched the other nurse come back with a cart of supplies the doctor asked for, "Normally, I would have someone more . . . _diligent_ on him but this case has taken a bit more of my usual resources than I thought."

Steve watched tensely as the doctor administered a sedative and Tony flinched, the boy fighting with all his might to stay conscious. Steve felt more relieved than he should have to see Tony's eyes slip closed and his tense body relax.

"What case is that?" Steve finally turned back to Coulson.

The agent quirked an eyebrow at that, grumbling, "It's actually kind of refreshing to hear someone _ask _first."

Steve didn't know what that was supposed to mean but took the file that was handed to him all the same.

* * *

Coulson had actually been having a little chat with Dr. Banner when the alert came to his phone that Tony had somehow gone missing. How Agent Barkley had managed to lose someone who'd just had major surgery was beyond Coulson. The kid hadn't even been there twenty-four hours yet.

Before that little catastrophe, though, Coulson had managed to find Dr. Banner holed up in one the more out of the way labs sipping his morning tea and squinting at a screen.

As soon as Coulson walked into the lab, however, Banner, as usual, went on the defensive when he saw someone in a suit, "If this is about the hacker's computer I don't know anything more than what I told Agent Romanoff." And that had pretty much been the entirety of the conversation.

Coulson was about to leave after warning the good doctor not to discuss this with anyone else (because it wasn't like everyone in headquarters didn't already know about the hacker, anyway) when Banner asked suddenly, "How is he?"

Coulson turned back to the doctor with a curious tilt to his head.

Dr. Banner backtracked a bit, "It's just . . . there was blood and . . ." he trailed off with a frown, not meeting Coulson's eyes.

Coulson just nodded slowly, "He'll be alright. With the proper care, of course. Gunshot to the stomach is no joke, as you can imagine." Phil raised an eyebrow when Banner looked like he would say more.

The doctor seemed reluctant to ask anything more, probably because he was reluctant to involve himself in anything else anyway. Phil always wondered of Dr. Banner was always this hesitant about things and maybe the Hulk was just a really extreme manifestation of built up frustration.

Finally, the doctor did ask, "Was Agent Romanoff right? About his age, I mean, she said the hacker was probably just a kid."

The Agent nodded again, an idea occurring to him, "We haven't found any more personal information on him, aside from his first name, Tony. He can't be more than fifteen or so, at least that's my guess. Why do you ask?" It was an innocent enough question but one had to be careful with this particular scientist. Dr. Banner didn't like prying.

"He must be a pretty brilliant kid," Dr. Banner said, without taking offence, "Computers and everything aren't my specialty, as you know, but from what I could tell he put that laptop together from scratch. That and Harris and his team haven't even made a dent in his encryptions on the flash drive the kid gave you," The doctor shrugged, "From what I know he seems like a special boy."

Coulson had to fight very hard to hide a smirk, "Well, maybe you'll get a chance to tell him that," Dr. Banner's eyes shot up to Coulson, confused, "He's in my custody and once he's able to be out of ICU," Coulson's phone beeped urgently at him suddenly, "I intend to keep him very close by for the immediate future." Upon seeing the alert on his phone and who it was for, Coulson quickly bid Dr. Banner good day and hurried back to the medical wing.

The agent did have a short moment to enjoy the look of bewilderment on the good doctor's face, however.

* * *

A/N: Oh, Steve. I always digress when it comes to you. Not sure how I feel about Steve's part, I got all explanatory, oops. Anyway, sorry if the jump backwards to Bruce was confusing, it just didn't feel right any other way. And I promise Tony will actually be up and running (within reason, you incorrigible little imp) soon and Coulson will be sneakily trying to make everyone be friends.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks so much for all the helpful comments everybody! You all really make my day.

Just a warning, this story is actually developing something like a plot in my head . . . I don't know how it happened either. You should know though, it will probably be forced and unrealistic – specifically to give us as much hurt Tony and protective team as possible. So, yeah. And Thor should be here soon, as usual he is being difficult and not just showing up for me and the muse.

* * *

Waking up the second time was much more enlightening than the first.

For one Tony felt much more clear-headed and they must have put him on the good drugs because he felt light and slightly numb. He also remembered where he was and even though that still freaked him out he actually remembered what got him there. Sort of. His memory was still spotty at best but it gave him context. Hacking SHIELD. Gunshot. Agent. Flash-drive. Hospital. Okay, doing better so far.

Secondly, Tony realized he wasn't alone this time.

Two male voices spoke lowly to one side, which gave Tony a moment of panic until he realized neither voice could be Acker.

They must not have noticed he was awake yet, as they continued to speak to each other.

" – said he avoided a fever, so he'll be fine. Luckiest kid I've ever seen, I swear."

"Well, I'm grateful you volunteered to be here. Took a load off my mind, Captain."

The other man was quiet for moment but Tony heard him move around a bit. Tony took a chance and opened his eyes a fraction. Obviously, he was back in the tiny, white room. He was slightly surprised that he kind of recognized both men though. The shorter one in the suit, leaning on the door frame, Tony knew was the one who'd found him in that apartment building with Acker and responsible for bringing him here apparently. Agent . . . something . . .

The other was taller, blonde, and for all intents and purposes should have been intimidating, but somehow wasn't. Maybe it was the way he sat straight but comfortable in the plastic hospital chair or how he smiled kindly at the agent's thanks, but the man just radiated _good guy_. Tony wasn't sure where he knew this other man from, but distinctly remembered the word _safe _being used.

Then the agent sighed, "Agents Romanoff and Barton are coming back today. Trail went cold. And Harris still hasn't gotten anywhere on the drive the kid gave us. He says every time he thinks he's in, a gif pops up that pies his computer screen and laughs."

The blonde, the one Agent had called Captain, furrowed his brow, "I'm going to assume that doesn't mean an actual pie came out of his computer." _Okay he may seem like a nice guy, but he apparently hit his head somewhere along the way_, Tony had to hold back an incredulous snort.

The shorter man just took it in stride with an amused smile, "No, Cap, we haven't taken technology quite that far yet. Honestly, I'll be more than impressed if Harris and his team of professionals can figure out the encryption codes of a teenager."

Right, Tony could see when he was needed.

"Just plug it into my laptop," and before Tony could wonder what he'd swallowed to make his voice sound like _that,_ two heads whipped toward him. Well, the Captain looked surprised at least; Agent might as well have known he was awake the whole time. Looking at the man's face made Tony think he probably did.

Agent was the first to speak, raising an eyebrow, "Your laptop?"

Tony nodded swallowing thickly, "The program –," he was cut off by his own coughing fit that made his whole body shake and ache distantly. Agent was suddenly by his side with a cup of water, helping Tony take a few careful sips through a straw.

"The program," Tony began again, when he felt he could speak, "will only respond when it recognizes my laptop," he had to pause for a breath, which annoyed him, "I knew you would take it in when you took in the rest of evidence. Made it as easy as I could." Tony shrugged lightly, not caring if that last bit sounded insulting. He immediately put shrugging on the _bad idea_ list.

For heaven's sake, he'd barely been awake ten minutes and he was already exhausted.

Agent nodded, lips thinning in what Tony thought was halfway between annoyance and amusement, "Yes, it seems you did," the man then pulled out a phone and looked at Tony, "It's good to see you awake, Tony. I have to go make a call now but I will be back to ask you a few questions and explain some things, if the doctor says you're up for it." With that he walked briskly out the door and Tony was left with the "Captain."

Tony looked over at the only adult left in the room. Actually, now that his eyes were opened properly the man looked much younger. Early twenties or so. The guy's overall stance and size made him seem more mature.

Tony realized too late that he was staring but the man didn't seem to notice as he stood and stepped closer to the bed.

"How are you feeling?" the Captain asked, smiling that kind, sincere smile at Tony.

Tony quirked an eyebrow and felt his mouth twitch into a smirk, "Like I want coffee and a shower. And a cheeseburger," Tony's voice still sounded hoarse but it was a little stronger, "Not necessarily in that order."

The blonde shook his head, but the smile never left, "I'll see what I can do about some food. I'm Steve Rogers, by the way, and Coulson said your name is Tony?" Tony did notice that Steve didn't say anything about the coffee or shower, but didn't mention it.

"Is that what Agent's name is?" Tony wondered aloud instead, then asked when a thought suddenly struck him, "Did I throw up on you?" And yes, that was a bit random, but Tony felt a little light-headed anyway.

Steve blinked, "No, why?"

"I remember throwing up on someone is all," Tony rambled (because his mouth tended to run when he was nervous and hospitals made him crazy), "That would be embarrassing if it was you. Did you have the arrows, then?"

Steve was evidently beginning to wonder if Tony had a head injury as well, "Sorry, arrows?"

Tony indicated his stomach with the hand that wasn't hooked up to an IV, "The bullet wound I remember. Kinda'. The arrows are a little harder to figure out."

"Actually, that was Hawkeye," Agent chose that moment to walk back in, doctor in tow, "Arrows are sort of his thing."

Steve stepped back and patted Tony's knee lightly, "That makes more sense. I'm gonna see what the nurses will let you have," Tony looked up eagerly and Steve gave him a look, "No coffee," he said sternly and walked out. Tony pouted at the blonde's retreating back. Nevertheless, Tony found himself kind of liking the Captain, despite knowing him less than an hour. Just something honest about him, most adults didn't have.

The same, unfortunately could not be said for the doctor looming over him and Agent, who looked like a guy who knew everything anyone did last summer.

The doctor checked him over and told Tony he was lucky and that he'd almost lost his spleen and not to get out of bed again (_again? Oh, wait, blonde guy in the elevator. Well, Steve made more sense now._) or he could do serious damage. And they'd be keeping him here a little longer (_ugh, why?_) just to be sure.

"What happens when I leave here?" Tony asked quickly, dreading the answer.

"You'll be released into Agent Coulson's custody," the doctor said indicating Agent still standing at the foot of Tony's bed, "Who will also be asking you a few questions now, if you're up for it?" The doctor eyed Tony critically.

Tony almost shrugged, then remembered the _bad idea _list, "Guess so, sure." Tony glanced at the agent, still not sure what to make of him. He didn't really feel like being interrogated, but felt like putting it off even less.

Agent Coulson had saved him from those men, but Tony was still technically a criminal who had hacked into SHIELD and several other high security organizations that could not be very happy with him right now. Not that he'd done it all willingly but in Tony's experience adults really didn't like to be contradicted.

The doctor nodded and turned to Agent with a pen pointed dangerously in his direction, "If he gets tired, you will leave him alone and let him rest. I don't care what he did or what he knows, you will not terrorize my patients. Understand?" He narrowed his eyes at Agent and Tony kind of had to respect the doc for it.

Coulson ducked his head and raised his hands in surrender, "I'm not Barton or Romanoff, Dr. Hart. I'll behave."

Hart rolled his eyes at that, gave Tony one final nod and walked out, leaving Tony alone with Agent. Tony watched as Coulson walked around the bed to sit in Steve's abandoned chair, and suddenly keenly missed the blonde's presence even though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he'd ever needed help fighting his own battles before.

"So," Tony drawled as the agent pulled out a notebook and a pen (and seriously, who still used paper?), "Questions?"

"Yes," Agent clicked his pen open, "We'll start with: What's your full name?"

"Doesn't matter," Tony answered immediately.

Agent cocked an eyebrow at that, "I have to know, Tony, in case someone is looking for you."

"No one is looking for me," Tony said looking down at his blanket, "Trust me."

Agent sighed, "You understand I can't just take your word for it?"

"Why not?" Tony asked stubbornly.

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled something that sounded like _another Clint_.

"We'll come back to that one," Agent said aloud, "Would you be so inclined to tell me your age?"

Tony was quiet for a moment, judging how much damage that information could do, "Fifteen," he said finally.

Agent nodded like he suspected that, "And what is a fifteen year old doing aiding in a major criminal offence?"

"Look," Tony said irritably now that they were getting to the sensitive part, "All the information I got from you or anyone else is on the flash-drive I gave you. It's everything they were interested in and more. Can't I just sign something that says I won't tell anybody and be on my merry way?" Tony smiled at Coulson with false cheer.

The _look_ Agent gave him. Wow.

"If I had a week," Agent said carefully, "I could not explain everything wrong with that plan."

Tony groaned and sank back into his pillows.

Thankfully, Steve chose that moment to return, tray of food in hand. He took in Tony's slumped appearance and Coulson's annoyed one, "Ok, what did I miss?"

"Agent is torturing me," Tony grumbled but eyed the tray with interest.

"I've barely asked you three questions," Agent protested flatly, "And you haven't told me anything."

Tony opened his mouth to retort but Steve beat him to it.

"How about," Steve spoke up pitching his voice over both of them, pulling a wheeled table over to Tony and setting the tray on it, "You eat something first," the tray was pushed over to Tony's lap, "And you can talk after."

Tony eyed the tray loaded with bland hospital food then looked up at Steve, "This is not a cheeseburger."

Steve snorted and handed Tony a fork, "Just eat it, your Highness. And the nurse said to take it slow. She's the one you threw up on earlier."

Tony grimaced, but took his fork obediently, mostly grateful Steve had given him an excuse to stall Agent longer. Maybe when he was done eating he could fake tiredness and get the doctor on his side, too. He was still feeling fatigued, which annoyed him because, _he literally just woke up_, but knew there was nothing to be done. Still, he didn't want to be here, he didn't want to answer questions, and he didn't want to be in anyone else's custody, ever.

Then Steve tapped his shoulder, "Staring at it's not gonna get it in your stomach," which made Tony smile at his mother-hening and poke at something that looked like mashed potatoes.

* * *

Coulson watched the short exchange between the Captain and his new charge. _Well, that's interesting._

Their banter continued as the Captain encouraged Tony to eat and Tony mostly picked at his food but complied.

Without seeming too abrupt, Coulson flipped his notepad closed and stood, clearing his throat, "Captain?" the soldier looked up at Coulson, "May I speak to you in the hallway for a moment?"

Steve looked up in surprise but nodded, glancing at Tony once and moving with Coulson out to the hall.

"Everything okay?" the Captain asked when Coulson was sure they were out of earshot of Tony's room.

"You're going to have to get Tony to talk to you," Coulson responded bluntly.

Steve blinked, "What? I mean . . . why?"

Coulson sighed, "Put simply? He likes you, and he doesn't seem very fond of me. You could have better luck getting him to answer."

The Captain crossed his arms, looking uncomfortable, "I'm not really an interrogator, Agent Coulson. And he's just being a little difficult – "

"Captain," Coulson interrupted, "We both know this goes beyond a difficult teenager," Steve's lips thinned at that and Coulson knew he understood, "You don't have to interrogate. Maybe it's because you're closer to his age, maybe it's because I'm in a suit, it could be a thousand reasons, but the fact is he doesn't trust me enough to tell me anything. He might tell you, though."

Phil waited a moment for the soldier to respond.

Finally, Steve took a deep breath, "I'll _try_," he paused to shake his head, "but I doubt it'll work."

"That's all I ask, Captain," and Coulson would be lying if he said he wasn't a little biased in this situation, but if ever there was a man he'd call to convince someone of something it would be Captain America.

* * *

"Stop looking so scowly," Clint said as he and Natasha walked down the corridor to Coulson's office.

"I'm not," Natasha said flatly, cutting her eyes toward him momentarily.

"Yes, you are. Your face is slightly less . . . stoic than it normally is, and you're doing that thing with your mouth that means someone's being annoying," Clint watched as Nat's lips thinned further, "Yeah, like that."

"Stop analyzing me," Natasha said sharply, "And I have every right to be in a bad mood. We're two of the top assassins in the world and we _lost_ our target."

Clint huffed, "We've lost tons of targets. We always find them again or they turn up on their own."

"Usually, with a dead body or two to show for it," Natasha said casually.

"That's the spirit," Clint quickly stepped around the next corner to avoid her swat at him, "I'm seriously considering not introducing you to Tony."

"You are entirely too excited about that little hacker," Natasha knew this because it had been the main topic of conversation the whole time they had been gone, "You haven't even talked to the kid yet. You haven't even seen him _conscious._"

"First of all, Coulson has and I trust Coulson's judgment," he said pointedly, "Second, if you want to meet our new baby bro, you're gonna have to be in a better mood. He's had a hard time lately. I'll not have you scaring him off with your strange Russian aloofness and sour attitude."

"My strange Russian – "

"Please tell me," Coulson interrupted leaning out of his office door, "You have a better reason for being late than petty arguing?"

"Afternoon, Coulson," Clint said and squeezed past Coulson into the small office, "We failed in tracking the two culprits, we have no leads, and no idea what they were trying to do in the first place. How's your day been?"

Coulson sighed as he opened the door wider for Natasha to walk in more like a civilized human being, "Not much better. Although, Harris did finally make some progress with that drive."

"Great," Clint said quickly, plopping down in one of the office chairs, "How's the baby?"

"I will kill you with my hands," Coulson said blandly as Natasha sat much more delicately on the edge of the desk.

Tasha rolled her eyes at the both of them, "What did Harris find?"

Coulson nodded at her in thanks, "They were definitely after information on the tesseract. Tony stored most, if not all, of the information he stole for them on that drive. They looked at everything from weapons development to personnel files, which explains how that guy knew who I was. I'd like to assume they're a part of a bigger organization. It's the only way they could have heard anything about the tesseract being found as it's not something the general public even imagines much less gossips about," Coulson sat down behind his desk and passed Natasha a file filled with everything Harris had found so far, "Harris' team is still sorting through all of it, but that's the highlights."

The red-head flipped open the file while Clint nodded, "That's nice and all," he sat forward and leaned his elbows on Coulson's desk, "But I stand by my earlier question."

Coulson glared at him, while Black Widow kicked Hawkeye's shin and ignored the whining that followed.

The senior agent answered anyway, "He's better. He woke up twice while you two were gone. The first time he tried to escape. I swear you can't find good guards anymore." At Clint's raised brow Coulson continued, "Nothing worse than some ripped stitches, but he did set back his recovery a little."

Clint nudged Nat's knee with his elbow, "Told you the kid's impressive." She rolled her eyes again but smiled a fraction.

"Cap found him," Coulson said absently, staring down at another file, "He's supposed to be talking with him now – "

"Wait, he's awake _now_?" Clint squawked.

Coulson looked up slightly alarmed, "Well, he might be. I left the Captain with him a few hours ago – "

"Why didn't you say so?" Clint grabbed Natasha's wrist and began to pull her (or tug on her arm uselessly as she stared at him like he'd lost his mind) toward the door, "Meeting adjourned, thanks for the update Coulson, we'll just go check up on Cap for you," Clint finally got Nat out the door (ok, she got tired of him stretching her shirt sleeve and walked out on her own) and waved goodbye to Coulson, "See you later, boss."

The two assassins were already half-way down the hall before Coulson managed to stick his head out again, "You still have to fill out a written report, you know?"

Clint just walked faster down the corridor, Nat trailing behind with thin lips.

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, so I'll be traveling next week so either I'll try to get in another short chapter this week or it won't be up till I get back. I have no idea if where I'm going has an internet connection, but it's on the beach so that may just make up for it .

Next chapter, Tony and Cap have a little talk and Clint more or less forces his companionship on everybody. Good times.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: **More Steve, Clint, and Natasha in this chapter, like I said. Bruce is coming I promise, he's just shy and it takes a little more coaxing to get him to come out. Thor, too, but he's just plain stubborn.

* * *

Tony had already started to doze off again by the time Steve got back to the room. The little hacker had pushed the table and tray away, but on closer inspection Steve noticed the food was still barely touched. For now he would attribute that to Tony's condition, but the kid really needed some meat on his bones.

The soldier tried to move further into the room as quietly as possible, so as not to startle the teenager. Nevertheless, when he moved the chair to sit, the faint scrubbing along the floor woke Tony with a jolt. Tony looked over at Steve, vaguely annoyed.

Steve sighed, "Sorry, go back to sleep." The Captain sat down but Tony kept his eyes open.

"Agent wants you to talk to me," Tony mumbled sleepily. It wasn't a question.

"Did you hear us?" Steve asked, always finding it better not to lie. Bucky would call him goody-two-shoes, but it wasn't always about moral high-ground. He just found most people respected you more when you were straight forward with them. Steve ended that train of thought before he went too far under.

Tony shook his head slowly on his pillow and smirked, "I just thought Coulson was supposed to be the bad cop or something."

Steve smiled, partly because Tony was too smart for his own good and partly to dispel thoughts of what Bucky would do if he met a kid like Tony, "He's not, you know?" When Tony only blinked at him, Steve elaborated, "Agent Coulson. He's not the bad guy. He genuinely wants to help."

Tony's smile became more wooden at that and he stared at Steve for a moment before saying quietly, "Doesn't everyone?"

Steve wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

Finally, he just sighed, "We can talk more after you get some rest, okay?"

Tony grumbled low in his throat at that but closed his eyes and shifted stiffly, trying to get comfortable with his stomach stitched up.

The boy eventually stilled and Steve was just wondering where he'd put the book he'd had earlier when Tony's soft voice spoke up once more, "You in the army or what?"

Steve looked up, surprised Tony was still conscious, "Pardon?"

"Agent called you Captain," Tony said, half-asleep already and face pressed into his pillow, "Apparently everyone who works for SHIELD is called Agent. But you're Captain. Either you got a boat or . . . "

Steve smiled at Tony's sleepy explanation and nodded, "Yeah, I'm in the army. Or . . . I was. A long time ago, so I guess I'm not anymore," Steve stopped rambling and sighed, "It's a long story." Not to mention pretty depressing right at the end. And it wasn't even over.

"Sounds like a good story," Tony slurred, "Can't even 'member if you're in the army or not."

An idea occurred to Steve then, and he hoped Tony wasn't too far gone when he leaned forward and said, "I'll make you a deal," Steve paused and watched Tony's eyes flutter open suspiciously, "I'll tell you mystory," the boy's eyes narrowed with a flicker of amusement, "If you'll tell me _yours_." Tony raised an eyebrow and the smirk was back.

"Are you bribing me, Captain?" Tony asked, looking a bit more awake.

"I'm willing to throw in coffee," Steve saw Tony's eyes light up and added quickly, "A _small _coffee."

Tony snickered, but seemed to think about it.

Finally, the boy said, "Deal. But you're not allowed to leave anything out."

"Neither are you," Steve laughed at Tony's wrinkled nose, but continued, "Now go to sleep."

Tony nodded and snuggled down into the blankets. He was asleep in minutes.

* * *

It had been a few hours, but Steve was determined to let Tony sleep as long as he needed. Besides he had his book and Coulson was kind enough to bring him his sketch pad from his room a little while after Tony fell asleep.

Tony was a rather animated sleeper when he wasn't drugged. He'd mumble in his sleep mostly, words that Steve couldn't make out. The boys face would scrunch like he was concentrating on something and every once in a while his hands would clench or wave through the air. Thankfully, the rest of his body stayed relatively still, aside from some random twitching, or Steve would have been more concerned.

The nurse, Pamela (who had absolutely no hard feelings about being thrown up on), had come through every hour or so to check on Tony. She'd smile at his sleep-talk, smooth Tony's hair back from his forehead, and nod at Steve before noting the boy's chart and leaving again. Steve was beginning to think Tony might also have a knack for wrapping people around his finger.

Nevertheless, Steve got used to Tony's constant litany and eventually got lost in his book. He barely noticed when Tony stopped suddenly.

The Captain looked up, half-expecting to see Tony awake, but that was not the case. Tony's face was suddenly pale and distressed and both his hands were clinched into fists so tight they were shaking. Most alarming was that Tony looked like he was holding his breath.

Well, Steve knew a nightmare when he saw one. Granted he himself normally woke up shouting, but . . .

Not knowing what else to do, Steve stood, took Tony by the shoulders, and shook the boy gently, "Tony? Wake up and breathe, buddy, c'mon. _Tony._"

Steve kept shaking and with a strangled gasp Tony woke. The boy spotted Steve and pushed away from the soldier with all the strength his weakened body had. He was stopped from probably further aggravating his injuries by Steve's stronger hands on his shoulders.

"Stop it, Tony, it's just me. It's Steve," Steve started babbling again like he had in the elevator until Tony's brain finally caught up with him and recognition dawned.

The boy flopped back and started gulping in air as Steve took one hand away but left the other on the boy's shoulder.

"It's okay now," the Captain murmured in what he hoped was a comforting way, "Just relax. Do you want me to get the nurse?" Steve really wasn't sure what to do when it was another person having the nightmare. If it was him he'd just go down to the gym (which seemed to be his solution for most things nowadays, but hey, use what you got) but Steve was pretty sure that wouldn't work for Tony.

Tony shook his head, wincing in pain, "'m fine." The boy glanced down at Steve's hand still on his shoulder, as if considering it. Steve almost moved it but waited to see what Tony would do.

"Yes, I can see that," Steve said and got a glare in return, "Don't give me that, and tell me honestly. Are you alright?"

Tony glared some more but huffed, "Yes. Everything's fine. Cross my heart and all that." Tony leaned his head back and put a hand over his eyes, sighing, "You're such a mother-hen." He glanced back at Steve's hand and, apparently deciding he'd had enough coddling for one day, shrugged it off.

Steve chose not to take offense to that.

He also decided to simply drop the subject. No sense arguing about something he couldn't fix, anyway.

The soldier was just about to ask if Tony wanted to try eating again when there was some commotion in the hall. Suddenly alert, Steve turned toward the door putting himself between it and Tony. Tony also tensed and tried to sit up in bed. When he couldn't sit up, Tony started searching for the remote to control the incline of the bed with a frustrated noise.

It sounded like something falling, clattering, and then voices arguing incoherently.

Finally, one voice came close enough to be heard, " – sorry, Pam, don't worry I'll fix it later, just in a hurry – "

Then a female voice that Steve knew wasn't Pamela the nurse, "Clint, I swear if you grab me one more time I will cut off your genitals and wear them as jewelry – "

"Later, Tash, this is his room."

Steve relaxed only slightly when he realized who it was. Why they were there, he wasn't sure.

Hawkeye poked his head into the room just as Tony finished inclining his bead to where he could see everything.

The archer spared Steve a dismissive glance (and Steve was man enough to admit, that chafed) then his sharp eyes landed on Tony and his face lit up, "Found him!" He marched into the room with a disgruntled but curious Black Widow trailing behind.

"I'm right behind you, you idiot, stop yelling," Romanoff said, also scanning the room as she had a habit to do whether it was a threatening environment or not and eyed Steve and Tony critically.

Clint on the other hand was a tornado of energy, "You're awake," he chirped to Tony as he shoved past Steve (who had to resist the urge to shove the archer back and demand to know what was going on) and moved to the other side of Tony's bed, "Welcome back to the land of the living. How's everything?" Clint asked distractedly as he rummaged around in his pockets for something.

Tony stared for a moment at the archer, and then silently looked to Steve for an explanation.

"Tony, this is Hawkeye," Steve said quickly for Tony's benefit, pointing to said archer, still annoyed, "The . . . uh, the guy with the arrows?"

Tony nodded, still looking unsure, as the assassin in question spoke up, "Actually, Tony, you can call me _Uncle_ Hawkeye the Guy With the Arrows or just Clint Barton, if you like, but that's up to you," still searching his pockets Clint pointed to Natasha, "The scary red-head is Natasha Romanoff, aka Auntie Black Widow."

"He is _not _allowed to call me Auntie," Natasha said from the foot of the bed, still watching Steve and Tony like a couple of puzzles.

"I'm so confused," Tony said quietly, glancing at Steve again, who could only shrug helplessly.

"Don't worry," Clint said and finally pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his many pockets, "This will explain everything," he paused to clear his throat and laid a hand on Tony's head (the muffled protest Tony made while he batted at Clint's unmovable arm was not at all adorable, really) with a solemn expression.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Shh, we're having a moment," Clint said looking down at the crumpled paper, "It's a bit rough, but I had to write it while Tasha here drove like a maniac – "

"Excuse me?"

"And without further ado," Clint shot a glare at Natasha, "My oath to our new baby brother."

Natasha butted in yet again with, "_Oath_?" just as Steve sputtered, "Baby brother?"

"I, Clint Barton," Clint started anyway, speaking over them and reading from his paper, "Do solemnly swear, as your brother under the one known as Coulson, to protect you and generally have your back when everything in this place goes to Hell in a hand basket as it occasionally does. Also, to teach you the full SHIELD acronym (and trust me it's ridiculous) and to aide you in any worthy endeavor, whether it be mission, mischief, or mayhem. Except if it in any way offends Natasha, because she will not hesitate to use our skulls as cereal bowls, after she kills us." By the end Clint was holding his paper to his chest with a dewy look on his face and his other hand was still on the forehead of a very freaked out Tony.

Everyone was quiet for a minute until Natasha spoke up, "When did you start hanging out with Thor?"

"And aren't mischief and mayhem the same thing?" Steve asked.

"_So _confused," Tony murmured from under Clint's hand.

Clint sighed dramatically and removed his hand from Tony to turn to Steve, "No, my dear Captain, there is a difference," He turned back to Tony, "This is why he's not the fun one. But Coulson loves him so we keep him around."

Now, Steve was annoyed, "May I speak to you outside, Agent Barton?" the words came out harsher than the soldier meant them to. Barton and Tony both looked at him, Barton annoyed, Tony understandably bewildered.

Barton didn't move immediately. He and the Captain had a short staring contest before the archer finally grouched, "_Fine_," and walked out the door with a smile at Tony and a brief glare at Steve when the little hacker couldn't see.

Before Steve moved to follow, he smiled reassuringly at Tony and patted his shoulder, "While I'm gone I'll get that coffee, yeah?" Tony's smirk returned hesitantly at that, but he didn't say anything.

The Captain glanced at Natasha and she arched a delicate eyebrow at him as if to say _Yeah, no, I'll stay here while you two pull hair. _

Rogers left it at that and walked out into the hallway where Hawkeye was eyeing a collapsed stack of bed pans dubiously.

"Wow, she actually left them for me to clean up," Clint mumbled mostly to himself, "Isn't that against hospital policy, or something?"

"What are you doing?" Steve asked bluntly when he was in hearing range of the archer.

"Trying to figure out if these are sanitary," Barton replied.

"I mean with Tony," Steve said, distantly realizing he was using his Captain America tone, "He's not some toy you picked up on the side of the road. He doesn't need you messing with him – "

"Easy there, Captain Over-protective," Clint interrupted angrily, "Just because you're the first one he saw when he woke up does not make you his momma."

Steve resisted the urge to close his eyes to fight off an oncoming headache, "Don't you think Tony has been through enough without you acting like this is some big joke?" Rogers decided just standing there wasn't working for him so he pushed past Barton (and yes that may have been a little vindictive, but even Captain America had his limits) and headed to the cafeteria.

Barton spun around and followed him looking just as bewildered as Tony a moment ago, "Where are you going?"

"To get coffee," Steve groused back and listened as Clint followed.

"Personally, I think you're hyped up enough, Cap," Barton quipped and stopped abruptly when Steve wheeled around on him.

"What do you want with Tony?" Steve knew he was being a bit irrational, but he didn't know Barton. Yes, he'd spent the last few months living in the same building as the archer, and he generally seemed like a decent enough human being. But Steve didn't know him. Not really. "That boy is scared and injured and quite possibly alone. He doesn't need – "

"Oh, good, the guy who's known him less than forty-eight hours is going to shower me with insight to a teenage hacker," Clint interrupted again with venom, "Tell me, Cap, you got his full name yet or are you such good friends a first name basis is simply a must?"

Steve tried to keep his voice even, "I'm working on that," and moved around Barton again to get to the cafeteria.

"And how are you doing that exactly?" Barton asked irritably, trotting up beside Steve. And no, Steve did not take any pleasure from taking longer strides so that Barton had to jog to keep up. That's just how he walked.

"Coffee," Steve replied shortly, ignoring Barton's confused look, "And you haven't answered my question. Why are you here now?"

Barton sighed, "_Broken record," _but was silent as he continued to follow Steve.

For the longest, Rogers thought Barton wouldn't answer until, "Because I'm the reason he's in there."

They were outside the doors of the cafeteria now and Steve stopped, suddenly cautious, "What?"

Clint glared at him and sighed again, "I hesitated. I saw that ape aiming a gun at a kid and could have taken the guy out long before anyone else got hurt, but I waited for Coulson's order. That's what we're supposed to do, wait for the order," Barton trailed off and continued to glare at Steve, now barely resembling the jovial character he'd been minutes before in Tony's room, "If I'd taken the shot sooner, Tony might not have gotten hurt. A fifteen year old could have died and it would be my fault, no matter what Coulson says. I intend to make up for that. That's why I'm here." Barton finished and stared at Steve levelly despite being a few inches shorter than the Captain.

_Well, that's a horse of a different color_, Steve mused lightly, mulling over Barton's words for a moment before speaking.

"Okay, then," The soldier said slowly, feeling his shoulders loosen and his (slightly irrational) irritation with Barton drain away, "It seems we have the same intentions here."

"Seems we do," Clint said with a small, awkward bounce on the balls of his feet, and asked with a small smirk, "Did he really try to escape by the elevator?"

Steve couldn't help himself. He smiled a bit, "Yeah. Probably would have gotten a lot farther, too, if someone hadn't been there."

Barton _tsked_, even as he grinned, "I gotta show him how to make a proper escape. Honestly, so much potential just going to waste."

Rogers shook his head, still not fully understanding the archer, but at least willing to trust him with Tony, "Right. Help me find the smallest cup they have," he said and walked quickly into the cafeteria, Barton following, "And something a picky teenage boy will eat."

* * *

A/N: Why do you always make me want to do _Wizard of Oz _references, Rogers, _why_?

I swear I'm trying to get Tony out of that hospital room, it's just that all these Avengers want screen time. No promises but I'm gonna try to do two chapters this week, since I had to skip last week (sorry, but if it helps I got sunburned twice but it was totally worth it . . . ), fingers crossed everyone.

And thanks again to all my lovely reviewers. You give me all the warm fuzzies.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter got away from me a little, but here is Tony's long awaited story.

Also, warnings for an OC death, as the OC is a minor, and well, trauma. You'll see, I don't want to spoil anything, just be warned.

* * *

Tony hated how anxious he got when Steve left with that Hawkeye character. Tony wasn't afraid of being left alone. He could take care of himself and he'd proven that long before he ran away from his last foster home. Tony didn't need a security blanket.

No matter what Tony wanted, though, the fact was he was anxious now that the Captain had left the room. Tony wanted to smother himself with his hospital pillow because of how much of a _child _he was being.

Of course, it also would have helped if Steve hadn't left him with the hottest, yet scariest woman he'd ever met.

The woman was now busy watching Tony from the foot of the bed, as Tony glanced at the door every few seconds, willing _anybody _to walk in and break the silence. Archer guy was weird enough, but his companion could have made Hitler want to crawl under a rock with that stare. Honestly, it was like she was dissecting him.

Finally, Tony couldn't take it anymore, "Do you really eat cereal out of your victims' skulls?"

The red-head – Natasha, Barton had called her – raised an eyebrow at him as her mouth quirked into what could have been a smile, "Clint does love to exaggerate," she said smoothly.

"That's not actually an answer," Tony observed quickly.

That time Natasha did smile, but only just.

"So, you're the little mouse in our wires," Natasha said, not even bothering to be subtle about the change of subject.

"Um . . ." Tony started articulately, "I guess that's one way to put it."

She nodded and fell quiet again, thankfully switching from staring at Tony to walking over to the many drawers in the room to begin rummaging, "How are you feeling?" The question was said like an afterthought, but she was watching Tony again from the corner of her eye while she examined a jar of throat swabs.

"Like I got shot," Tony grumbled. The truth was he felt tired and shaky and even though he was on the good drugs he was sore all over. He hated this hospital room and was starting to feel strangely claustrophobic.

Natasha _hmmed _and said coyly, "I'm familiar with the feeling." She closed the drawer and looked at Tony again with that searching expression, "Why do you like the Captain so much?"

She was blunt, but Tony thought he liked that better than subterfuge, "I don't, I just can't get rid of him," he said just as bluntly. It was a flat lie and Tony could see she knew it was even as it left his mouth.

Natasha's mouth twitched again as she shrugged, "Yeah, alright." Tony was kind of surprised by her easy acceptance but apparently the subject was dropped as far as the Black Widow was concerned. She put her hand in her jacket pocket and pulled out a small evidence jar, "Got something for you."

"Forgive me if that inspires more fear than gratitude coming from you," Tony said before he could think about it.

"Shut up or I'll let Clint write you another speech," Natasha walked back over to the bed and handed him the jar, "Don't feel obligated to keep it, though. Won't hurt my feelings."

"And here I had you pegged as a sensitive soul," Tony smiled brightly at her raised eyebrow and took the 'gift'.

The jar only contained a small piece of metal that a few months ago Tony wouldn't have recognized. Recent experience told him it was a bullet. One that looked like it had already been shot.

Tony held it up to the light and just stared at it for a moment before asking, "Is this . . . ?" He trailed off as his other hand gently rubbed his stomach. Tony hadn't actually _looked_ at the wound yet, just felt the damage. Now here he was staring at the tiny scrap of metal that did it and he felt slightly ill.

"Yeah," Natasha's voice sounded different, but Tony was too focused on the bullet that almost killed him to look up at her, "Clint dug it out of the wall when we went back to the apartment. He kept his first bullet too, and I think the little freak kept the first bullet I caught when I started working for SHIELD," She started to sound uneasy, which was alarming enough for Tony to look up, "Look, I didn't mean to upset you. Forget it, I'll hide it in Clint's room – "

"No," Tony said reflexively, pulling away when Natasha reached for the jar. She stopped as an ounce of surprise registered on her pretty face. She looked at him expectantly.

Tony met her eyes as he said, "I want to keep it," he wasn't sure why but he did, "Thank you."

Natasha was watching him in that peculiar way again, but somehow more softly than before. Her head tilted to one side as she said in a curious tone, "You are . . . unexpected, Tony." It was the first time Tony had heard her say his name.

And as was the Black Widow's pattern she did something unexpected.

She reached up slowly and ran her fingers through his hair in a gesture that should have been too familiar with a boy she'd just met but she just stated calmly, "You need a haircut, _myshka_."

And, yes, Tony should have been freaked out by a strange woman petting his hair and handing him bullets in jars. _Extremely _freaked out. But he wasn't. He was tired and achy and kind of having a hard time wrapping his head around his current situation. If he found comfort in a hot, scary, and somehow kind woman showing him her own weird sort of affection, well, Tony thought he could be forgiven if it was a lapse in judgment. So, he closed his eyes and let her pet his hair and call him funny names in a language he didn't understand. And it was kind of nice.

* * *

Tony didn't realize he had fallen asleep.

That is, until he was rudely awakened by two male voices arguing much too loudly for a hospital.

Tony's eyes shot open in alarm and his whole body tensed. He would have tried to get up again had it not been for the slender, gentle hand on his shoulder and woman's voice saying, "All is well, _myshka. _It's just the idiots coming back." Tony turned his head away from the door to the other side of his bed where Natasha sat in Steve's abandoned chair. Tony was surprised she was still there. The bullet in the jar was now on his nightstand, where the red-head must have placed it when Tony drifted off.

The voices got closer and Tony distinctly heard Steve's saying, "Barton, you cannot give him just sweets. I'm not even supposed to bring him coffee."

"You said to find something a teenage boy will eat," Clint said as they both walked through the door carrying two trays each, "That's what I did. And a little gratitude would be nice I had to _beg _the workers for this cake."

Tony heard Agent Romanoff grumble _idiots _one more time before she stood and helped the men with the trays. She looked at the amount of food on each tray and gave both men a look that clearly said, _Are you serious? _Clint just grinned at her sheepishly.

Steve walked over to Tony immediately with a small smile and tray made up mostly of fruits and veggies, "Sorry it took so long. We weren't sure what you could eat, so we just got some of everything they had." Now that he was standing there, the Captain looked slightly abashed at all the food they'd brought back.

Tony looked around at the food, amused, "Little over-zealous, there, Cap'n." If Tony was honest, he just wasn't very hungry. Ever. He practically lived off coffee when he had the choice and energy drinks when he didn't. He knew it wasn't healthy but he was usually . . . busy.

Nevertheless, Tony picked up an orange slice and nibbled on it like a good boy. No reason to jeopardize his chances a coffee.

As if on cue, Steve reached for another tray, "Oh, almost forgot," he placed a small, yet still glorious coffee mug in front of Tony which the boy reached for almost reverently, "As promised. Coffee."

"Steve, you're a beautiful human being. Stiff back and all," Tony said as he took a tentative sip. There was no denying it was hospital coffee, but still one of the best things Tony had ever tasted.

Steve smiled but said seriously, "Now I think it's your turn."

"I thought we said your story – and coffee – for mine," Tony said innocently, trying to shift as painlessly as possible into a better position to eat.

The Captain snorted, "What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"

"Don't make the poor kid answer that, Rogers," Clint said from his perch on the counter. Somehow, Natasha had pulled a second chair out of thin air and was sitting next to Clint. She punched his leg at the interruption.

"Tony," Steve said seriously, ignoring Clint's pained grumbling as the archer rubbed his leg, "Please?"

And that was what got Tony about Steve. He actually made Tony feel like he had a choice in the matter. Also, that puppy face, seriously, that was just unfair.

Tony sighed and decided to start small, "Maria Capello."

Steve tilted his head and prompted, "And that is . . .?"

"My mother's name," Tony continued after a beat, "At least that's what she put on the birth certificate. She also put my full name as Anthony Edward Capello, but I only ever go by that when I have to," Some of the kids he'd known in foster care changed their names when they got out. Fresh start and all. He'd always planned to do that himself, "She didn't list my father, which means they weren't on good terms or she wasn't sure who to name," Tony shrugged as nonchalantly as he could but he still felt a twinge of bitterness, "I never knew her, not really. She died in a car accident when I was around a year old. They tell me I was in the car with her and survived. Obviously," Tony had a small white scar on his right elbow to prove it.

Steve nodded and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony laughed a bit, but without the humor, "Can't imagine it was your fault, Steve."

When the Captain paused looking a bit taken aback, Natasha spoke up, "How did you end up here, Tony?" She was as blunt as always, but her voice now held certain . . . gentleness, that it hadn't before. Tony wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Tony took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. It was a long story and he wanted to try to give the shortest version of it, if only for his own benefit.

"I ran away from my last foster home," Tony began simply, "I finally got fed up and I left. Trust me, it was the best solution for all involved," he explained when Steve looked like he would interject. It was true, too. Tony was pretty sure if his case worker got one more bad report about him (or, better yet, had to find yet another unwilling home to take him in) her head would explode all over him, "So, I left and came into the city where I knew I could get a few odd jobs working with computers. You would be amazed how many people will pay you just to help them set up an email account. It's kind of sad, really." Tony paused when Clint snorted.

"How did you get mixed up with those men?" Steve asked pointedly, directing a glare at Clint as Natasha punched his leg again.

"I'm getting to that," Tony said, smiling at Clint's pain, "Anyway, the local computer repair shop didn't like me taking up all their business, but instead of trying to run me off the guys offered me a job." The shop had been a small two-man operation that had no qualms about letting Tony tinker around in the back of the shop and paying the fifteen-year-old under the table. Tony had only ever known them as Rick and Johnny but they were okay guys. They'd even let him sleep in the back of the shop when Tony didn't have any other options and eventually Tony saved up enough to rent a seedy little apartment of his own.

"Wait a second," Barton interrupted, earning double glares from Steve and Natasha, which he ignored, "Wasn't anyone looking for you, during this little _Home Alone _adventure?" Apparently deciding that was a good question, the other two adults in the room turned their attention back to Tony.

Tony looked down at his now half-full coffee mug and said sheepishly, "I sort of . . . broke into the state foster care systems and . . . erased my files," Clint snorted again as Tony continued, "I know they have a paper file somewhere but I figured it would slow down any searches. Not that my last foster home would report my disappearance in a timely manner, anyway. It always looks bad when people can't keep up with their kids." Tony chanced a look up and saw Clint stifling giggles. Natasha had that x-ray vision thing going on and Steve just looked . . . baffled. It was the last one Tony didn't get.

"Anyway, that's how Acker got wind of me," Tony continued so as not to dwell on Steve's gaze, "The guys at the shop knew him in one way or another and they let slip that they had a boy genius in their store," And, no, Tony would never apologize for the hint of pride he took in calling himself _boy genius_, "He took an interest in me after that. He met me in the back of the shop one day, just to watch me work, he said. And he was really . . . nice . . . at first," That was putting things lightly.

Acker was everything Tony had ever wanted in an adult. At first Tony wasn't sure about the man who had taken such a sudden interest in him, with those piercing blue eyes and always perfect blonde hair.

But Acker was kind and he listened. He always praised Tony for his brilliance with technology and the man would sit patiently for hours as Tony worked and rambled about his ideas. He even laughed when Tony made stupid jokes. No one else had ever had the patience for Tony that Acker had.

It still amazed Tony how Acker had him pegged from the moment he walked in the door. It still amazed Tony how stupid he was. The hacker knew now that there wasn't a genuine bone in Acker's body, much less genuine consideration for a nobody-foster kid with a knack for tech.

Tony shook his head to dispel those thoughts and began again, "It started with small stuff that he paid me for. Nothing remotely illegal. Then one day he says he'll pay me triple if I can get into his ex-wife's accounts for him," Tony paused and chuckled humorlessly again, "Of course, it wasn't his ex, you know? I did it though and he paid me. It sort of just . . . escalated from there. At first he just wanted me to do small hacks, nothing major. I thought, honestly, what could it hurt? I just went along, I guess," Which was one of the dumbest things Tony had ever done to date, and he had a list.

"But then," Tony continued, before he chickened out, "He asked me to go with him to his place for a special project he needed my help with," Tony paused and looked down at his cold coffee, no longer in the mood to drink it, "I thought he just needed help with his own computer or something, right?" Tony took a breath, "But it wasn't like that. There was this other kid there. Simon," Tony never knew his last name, but he remembered making some stupid joke about _Alvin and the Chipmunks_ because of Simon's glasses which the other boy had rolled his eyes at, "He was a little older than me and Acker said we'd be working together on this one. Acker set us to work, pretty much telling us what to do up until a point.

"Simon figured out what was really going on before I did. He stopped working all of a sudden and got really quiet. When Acker asked him what the matter was, Simon just said, 'You didn't say anything about breaking into the FBI. I didn't sign up for this.'" Tony paused and looked up at the others, who were all listening intently, "That was when the blackmail and threats and such started, you know. Acker pretty much kidnapped me after that. Spent a few months with him I think, before you guys showed up," Tony cleared his throat and said lamely, "So, yeah, that's how I got in the middle of that. Don't ask me Acker's full name, I never knew it, sorry . . ."

He trailed off and silence filled the room.

The only one willing to break it was Natasha, "I think you left something out."

"Nothing important," Tony mumbled.

"Tony," Steve said softly, placing a hand on Tony's arm, which the hacker immediately snatched away.

"I told you what you needed to know," Tony said angrily, "What more do you want?"

Tony was glaring down at his mug in the following silence when Natasha somehow materialized at the foot of the bed, "What happened to Simon?" she asked simply, straight to the heart of the matter.

Tony didn't look at her and was quiet for a long time.

"Simon," Tony started slowly, "Like . . . like I said he figured it out first. He confronted Acker and he threatened to go to the police. Acker tried to talk him out of it, but Simon was already on his way out the door," Tony paused again, "That's when Acker shot him." Tony never even knew his well-spoken friend carried a gun until the proof was lying dead just in front of the apartment door. Acker shot Simon three times in the back, then walked over to check the boy's pulse. When Acker stood from kneeling over Simon, he'd turned to Tony and smiled.

"He, um, Acker told me to just finish on my own," Tony stuttered, remembering how calm the man had sounded standing over Simon bleeding into the carpet (_Come now, Tony, don't just sit there_), "He got mad and started yelling at me when I didn't and . . . I don't . . . um . . ." Tony never could remember clearly what happened after, but he must have finished the job. The next real memory he had was sitting, handcuffed to the kitchen table while Acker made calls to 'clean up the mess'. He had a bruise on his cheek that hurt but he couldn't remember being hit (_I'm sorry for that, Tony, but it had to be done_).

Tony suddenly couldn't get his breathing under control and his chest felt far too tight. He then had the horrible realization that he was close to a panic attack.

He wasn't sure when Natasha's arms had encircled him or when she had started to card her fingers through his hair again. He didn't know when his head landed on her shoulder or when Steve sat on the bed behind him with a steadying hand on Tony's shoulder or when Clint perched himself on the end of the bed and started patting his knee awkwardly. They were all suddenly touching him in some way, offering comfort as best they knew how. And they had barely known him for more than two days.

It was the most awkward and uncomfortable experience Tony had ever had but that didn't stop his eyes from stinging or his throat from tightening. It was also enough to refocus him on something other than the memory of Simon's open eyes, staring without seeing at the carpet.

He might have started crying, but, frankly, Tony was too tired to care. He fell asleep on Natasha's shoulder soon after.

* * *

A/N: I meant to upload this a lot sooner this week but my internet has been acting up for the past three days, sorry, blame technology and our dependence on it.

Also, _myshka_ simply means "little mouse" in Russian, which I thought was too cute to pass on, but I will not try to butcher the language any further. I got Maria Capello from Behindthename . com. It's supposed to be Italian and I always thought Tony might have a little Italy in there. And I don't know what Maria Stark's maiden name might have been and _Capello _has a nice ring to it, I think.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm already late with this chapter as is but now it's also going to be short filler. I got a little stuck and real life is happening, therefore my apologies.

BREAKBREAKBREAK

_I should know better by now,_ Tony was thinking fuzzily as he dozed in and out of wakefulness. He was also thinking he must be a real masochistic glutton for punishment at this point because he kept putting himself in these situations. Not in so many words, being half asleep and all, but the sentiment was there.

He could kind of forgive himself for Acker. Honestly, how was Tony supposed to see a manipulative psychopath coming? Granted he was a kid genius, etc. and the signs were all there what with the illegal hacking and everything but still . . .

Never mind, Tony would be beating himself for that one till the end of his days, he was sure of it.

Not that the 'Acker incident' surprised Tony much. It wasn't the first time he thought something in his life was actually going well, only for it to blow up in his face just when he was getting invested. It was like some constant cycle with him, one he could track back to one of the first foster homes he landed in.

He'd enter a new home and the first few weeks were fine, in the early years great even. Most of the foster parents in the beginning were pretty nice. They thought it was wonderful how smart he was, how well he did in school. Tony was creative and excited about learning, something the foster system apparently wasn't used to. Not surprising considering the jaded individuals coming through it.

But time would go on and Tony's . . . not so wonderful traits would emerge. Tony was considered a 'difficult' child. That was the nice way his social worker liked to put it.

What it meant was Tony argued, questioned, and generally didn't take crap from anyone and everyone around him. People apparently don't like that very much, especially people in the system. As Tony got older this trait of his only got worse. That was the reason behind most of his moves. His social worker was pretty much resigned to it, although she had a special sigh reserved just for Tony.

Anyway, after foster parents decided Tony was _too_ wonderfully smart they sent him away to be someone else's problem. Thus the next turn in the wheel, if Tony was feeling melodramatic. And nothing Tony tried could break it.

He tried to play by their rules, really, he had. Tony figured he must be hardwired with his own drummer, though, because no matter what he snapped first.

Now he's here again. Settling into a new place, with new people, who were all trying to assure him everything will be alright.

The ridiculous part was Tony was starting to believe they could be right about that. And wasn't that how he got himself in such a mess last time.

He shouldn't be falling for this like he did with Acker. Just because these people were nice didn't mean he had to eat right out of their hands. Sure, they promised to protect him, but that was just because they needed him. Once Tony was no longer needed they'd pass him off on someone else as soon as they could. That was the cycle, right?

But Tony still felt comforting warmth in his chest when Steve sat beside his bed. It still made him smile to think of Clint and his ridiculousness. He still felt calmer when Natasha murmured to him in Russian with her not-smile. Heck, even Agent didn't seem as bad as all the other suits he'd met.

So, maybe this would end badly, just like with Acker and the rest.

But, Tony figured, he'd already been kidnapped, threatened, and shot. Couldn't end much worse than that.

So, one more chance. That's it, just one more shot at finding a safe place. Any place at all, even if it was with some mysterious, slightly crazy group of people in a secret organization.

Maybe they were crazy enough to keep Tony around.

So, one more chance. If it didn't work out this time, well, Tony was young; he had plenty of time to become a jaded streetwise hermit.

For now, he would just put what little faith he had left into these people.

They were talking again as Tony dozed back to sleep. There was a soft hand smoothing back his hair and quiet words he didn't hear and that warm feeling in his chest.

Yeah, one last chance . . .

_Please let this be it . . . _

BREAKBREAKBREAK

A/N: I did want to get into Tony's head a bit more I just wish I had a more relevant chapter for you guys.

Hopefully, more next week, school is starting back soon so I'll be a bit distracted. I may have to make more sporadic updates, sorry, real life and all, it sucks.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Information dump at the beginning of this chapter, sorry, but at least it's not filler.

* * *

Agent Coulson watched carefully as Ms. Fernandez read through the warrant he'd handed her as soon as walking into her tiny office. She was a curt woman who had greeted him with something close to annoyance, which changed to restrained worry when he mentioned Tony.

"You found him then?" She'd said briskly, "How is he?"

Coulson did give her points for her concern, but still answered vaguely, "He's fine. Tony will be in our custody for the foreseeable future."

Ms. Fernandez seemed to steel herself before asking, "What's he done _now_?" And that led to Coulson's current position sitting in front of her desk, wondering if she was going to dissect the entire warrant before he got what he came for.

Thinking he should remind the social worker he was still there, Coulson cleared his throat.

Ms. Fernandez looked up over her reading glasses, annoyance returning, "So, basically, you want me to release all the . . . _paper_ files I have on Tony? And you want me to believe he's done nothing wrong?"

"I didn't say that, exactly," Coulson said patiently, "Just that he is a part of an ongoing investigation and any extra information will aide us."

Her lips pursed as she studied him skeptically for a moment, "Who did you say you were with, again?"

"SHIELD, ma'am," Coulson said politely, "Strategic Homeland Inter –"

"Yes, alright, you don't have to say it all again," Fernandez interrupted, "I've never heard of it anyway. But this warrant looks legitimate, and I should know," She put the warrant down on her desk and stood to move out of the cluttered office, "Come with me. Files are all downstairs."

As Coulson followed her down a single flight of stairs to the basement Fernandez spoke again, "Tony's files are a bit . . . _extensive._ He's moved around a lot and he has no concept of staying out of trouble. You may have to make a second trip."

They walked along an aisle of filing cabinets until she stopped and pulled one, then two, then three out, "These are Tony's files," she said.

Even Coulson had to pause for a moment, "All of these?"

Fernandez nodded, "It's partly because we have to fill out a lot of paperwork for _everything_ but the rest is because Tony is . . . Tony. I think we have a cart here somewhere." She walked off to find said cart leaving Coulson alone with the mass of files.

He sighed and reached in to pull out a random file, flipping it open. It looked to be a complaint from one of the foster parents, dated a few years back.

_. . . Tony has trouble getting along with the other children. The other boys have started to become somewhat disruptive and hostile towards Tony. What is most concerning, though, is that Tony tried to build a death ray as a response. We don't think it works but we would like to know if this is grounds to send him to a counselor . . ._

Coulson blinked and stopped reading as Ms. Fernandez trundled back with a handcart and a box.

"Found this, as well," She said, indicating the box, "Don't know if it's covering in your warrant, but it's just gathering dust here."

Coulson glanced into the old box, "Are these his things?" There were papers and different trinkets that didn't seem to belong to a teenage boy.

"Technically, yes," Fernandez said, "They belonged to his mother, things the police took into evidence when they investigated the wreck. It was ruled an accident and she didn't have any family to release it to, so Tony's old social worker picked it up and kept it for the kid. He was sentimental like that, Mr. Brown, and insisted I keep it for Tony. Kid's never shown any interest and I've asked a few times if he wants it," She shrugged, "You might as well take it."

"Thank you," Coulson said and began loading files onto the cart with Fernandez's help, "What else do you know about his mother?"

She shook her head, "Not much. Just that for a while the police thought her car accident might have been malicious, but it was eventually ruled accidental."

Coulson nodded and glanced back at the box, wondering if it held any secrets.

They had finally gotten the last of the files precariously piled onto the cart when Fernandez spoke again, "Agent Coulson?" she sounded unsure, so Coulson looked up, "Listen, whatever Tony's done or gotten himself into, he . . . he's not a bad kid. Most people just don't know what to make of him, you know?" She still looked uncertain, but otherwise determined to make her point.

Coulson looked from her, to the files, then back to her as he said, "Yes, ma'am, I believe I do."

* * *

Tony was not happy.

It had been three days since his spectacularly humiliating little breakdown and he was bored out if his skull.

Not to be mistaken, he was grateful to be taken care of and that Steve, Clint, and Natasha had made some silent agreement not to speak of certain embarrassing incidents. That didn't mean he was any less embarrassed. He blubbered like an idiot and he wasn't sure what all he told them, just that when they asked a question he answered almost automatically. Tony did know he'd broken his resolution not to tell them who might be looking for him, specifically, his social worker, Ms. Fernandez. Fantastic. Now all he had to do was wait for the backlash on that one.

In the meantime, he was bored. Tony was antsy and active by nature and being stuck in a hospital bed for days on end was torture at its finest. And no, Steve, he was not being dramatic.

That was another thing, too. Gone was the practically palpable tension between the three adults who had designated themselves as his guard-dogs. Oh, no, Steve, Clint, and Natasha were bosom buddies now and were most efficient in making sure Tony stayed still. At least one of them was on watch at all times. Tony almost preferred when they apparently hated each other, at least they didn't gang up on him then.

And, yeah, okay, fine, Tony was pretty . . . _touched, _he supposed,that they worried enough to watch over him. The last time someone had looked after him this closely was Acker, and it usually involved handcuffing him to whatever was convenient so Tony didn't try to run away (which Tony only tried once because he nearly lost a few teeth, among other injuries, when Acker tracked him down). At least here, Tony had some semblance of free will, so he was trying to be on his best behavior, at least until he was well enough to move on his own.

Not that he hadn't already made the attempt. Once.

Steve was asleep on the couch someone had moved into the room (and honestly, Clint and Tasha were ninjas of the highest caliber to get that in there without so much as waking Tony) and Tony had been awake staring at the ceiling wishing desperately for that shower he'd requested what felt like forever ago. One thing he learned in his hospital stay was that sponge baths are horrible, invasive affairs that he wanted nothing else to do with.

He also remembered there was a bathroom connected to his room. Just a few steps away from the bed. If Tony could make it all the way to the elevator just days ago, surely he could make it to the bathroom and clean up a bit. He wasn't dumb enough to try and take a whole shower, which he doubted he could stay standing in for long or do without waking Steve. He just wanted to splash some water on his face.

Therefore, as quietly as he could, Tony slipped out of bed (with, what he was happy to notice, less pain than the first time) leaning heavily on his IV pole (ripping that out = big no-no) and made his way to the small bathroom. Without incident, he thought proudly. He glanced back at Steve one more time to make sure he was still asleep, then closed the door.

Yeah, the other thing Tony had missed while being holed up in this place was solitude. He smiled a little and turned – slowly so as not to rip, break, or otherwise irritate anything – to the sink and mirror. And, boy was Tony a sight. Pale face, dark circles, and still fading bruises – Tony finally understood the term _death warmed over._

He sighed and turned on the water, waiting for it to get warm. Tony smiled as warmth ran over his finger tips (the hospital was really cold, all the time) and he cupped his hands under the flow so he could rinse his face.

As soon as he bent over, though, his stitched up stomach pressed into the edge of the sink sending pain lancing through Tony's entire body. The boy cried out, went to stand straight, lost his balance and toppled to the floor.

Cue frantic, sleep-mussed Captain slamming through the door and nearly tripping over his charge in the tiny bathroom. Tony didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the situation.

At the look on Steve's face, Tony decided a simple, "Sorry, Cap," was the best start.

Steve had just sighed and, without preamble, gathered Tony up off the floor and carefully carried him back to bed. At Steve's odd silence, Tony didn't even protest.

When the teenager was finally back in bed Steve spoke, "I know this is frustrating," he checked Tony's IV then looked him in the eye, "Trust me, I've spent my far share laid up in bed. But you have to rest and get better," the blonde paused and his face softened, "We worry about you, kid."

Something about the way Steve said that last part kept Tony in bed for the next few days without fuss. No really, Tony had done his best not to cause trouble because for a second there, when Steve found him, yet again, sprawled on the floor where he wasn't supposed to be, Tony was afraid he'd gone too far.

Steve hadn't looked _angry _exactly, but more . . . disappointed? Whatever the look was Tony didn't know what it meant, was afraid for a second he'd shown Steve how difficult it was to get Tony to behave, just like all the foster parents had. Tony was so amazed and thankful when Steve didn't leave or pass him off that he made himself promise not to make any more trouble.

Thus his laying in his bed bored so completely he can practically _hear _time pass by. Was it so much to ask to look at something other than these four sterile white walls?

Even Clint, his current watcher, had walked out for "just a sec" but it felt like ages without someone to talk to or play card games with (Tony never had any patience for solitaire). Since Tony had been staying awake longer and longer, the time had only gotten harder to pass.

Actually, Clint had been gone for a long time when Tony thought about it. Immediately he tried to think back to the last couple of hours to see if he'd done anything to annoy the archer, but honestly couldn't remember.

Tony was really beginning to worry when Clint reappeared with a wheelchair, Pamela the nurse, and a grin, "Ready for lunch?"

Tony sat up a bit more in bed and tried not too hopeful about the chair, "Are we going somewhere?" he asked tentatively.

"Just to the cafeteria," Pamela said with a small smile, "Agent Barton insists boredom is indeed fatal, despite medical evidence." She proceeded to take the chair from Clint and began helping Tony into it.

"Clint I could kiss you," Tony said earnestly once he was settled in the chair and Pamela had declared him safe to travel _but don't you dare get out of that wheelchair and call me anything happens, Barton._

"Thought you'd appreciate it," Clint said and waved goodbye to Pamela as he pushed Tony out the door, "We're meeting Steve and Tasha there. And someone else should be there that I think you'll get along with." Clint was practically bouncing with excitement which made Tony suspicious.

"You're setting me up on a date?" Tony joked as they neared the elevator.

"Something like that," Clint pressed the button and checked Tony's IV pole was secure. They reached the correct floor and Clint, who was quickly becoming Tony's favorite, put one foot on the back of the wheelchair and pushed off with the other until they were racing down the hall at a speed Pamela the nurse would not approve of. Tony whooped and laughed as Clint spun around corners and came to a controlled halt at the cafeteria doors.

"Don't tell _anyone_ that happened, got it," Barton said as he made sure everything was where it was supposed to be again.

Tony tried to stifle his laughter long enough to say, "Sir, yes, sir," and not to seem suspicious as they rolled into the cafeteria. The room was large as any cafeteria has to be and one wall was made up of a huge window looking out over the city. Tony had never been much of an outdoors person but he still bemoaned the fact that he had to stay cooped up inside while the sun was shining.

Barton steered him towards a table near the large window, where sat Steve, Natasha, and another man Tony didn't recognize. The guy looked incredibly uncomfortable sitting there next to Rogers, cleaning his glasses, and not making eye-contact with anyone. This must be the person Clint mentioned, but frankly the poor guy didn't look like he was ready to meet his own shadow much less Tony.

Just then Steve caught sight of them and waved, also alerting Romanoff and the other man to their entrance. The Captain also held up a tray with a cheeseburger and fries for Tony and for the first time in his life Tony almost felt spoiled.

When Clint finally parked his wheelchair at the end of the table Tony gave Steve his best reverent grin and said, "Captain, have I told you that you're my favorite?"

Steve shook his head and passed the teenager the tray, and spoke over Clint's indignant _Hey! _, "Just eat slowly. We practically had to bribe the entire hospital staff for this little field trip."

Tony took a huge bite out of the burger. Before Steve could form a protest, Natasha spoke up, gesturing to the new man across from her, "I'd like to save some semblance of etiquette here and introduce Dr. Bruce Banner. Dr. Banner this is Tony, our little hacker."

Dr. Banner looked almost startled that someone had remembered he was there but recovered enough to look at Tony with a small smile, "Nice to meet such a celebrity."

"C'lebr'ty?" Tony asked around the chunk of cheeseburger in his mouth. Steve and Tasha both gave him disparaging looks while Clint snorted into his drink.

Dr. Banner's eyes crinkled a little more at the corners in an almost-smile and he nodded, "R&D and the rest of Harris's computer geeks have been in quite the state over you and that little flash-drive." The man said it as a complement, Tony thought, but if Tony never heard about that stupid flash-drive ever again it would be too soon.

"Yeah, what was on there anyway?" Steve asked when Tony didn't say anything.

Tony took another bite of burger, hoping they would assume he was too hungry to talk.

Tasha, of course, caught onto this and raised an eyebrow at him. Thankfully, she didn't make him respond and said herself, "Coulson and Fury were nonspecific. Lots of classified information, anything R&D was working on involving weaponry. Personnel files," the last bit was said with a pointed look at Hawkeye.

Barton just nodded, "Explains how that Acker guy knew who Coulson was back at the apartment."

"Also means he probably has information on us too," Romanoff said matter-of-factly, even as Dr. Banner suddenly looked ill, "Maybe all of us."

Tony suddenly wasn't feeling so hungry and put his burger down. He started nibbling the end of a fry while the others discussed the information Acker had gotten. Natasha and Clint kept throwing out theories about how they could find Acker and Steve contributed as best he could, having not been a part of the initial investigation. Dr. Banner started looking and sounding more and more worried and wanted to know why exactly Acker would want such personal information.

Tony was wishing he was back in his hospital room. They were going to blame him for this; somehow, he just knew it. They would ask him why Acker wanted those files and Tony would have to say he didn't know, because he really didn't. They would ask him how he could let it get so far, and he wouldn't know how to explain himself. This whole thing was so screwed up and Tony found himself in the middle of it.

"You okay, kid?" Clint's voice slipped into Tony's thoughts and the teenager looked up, "You're not eating," Clint said and at that all eyes turned to the hacker.

As happened often with these people Tony flailed for something to say and at their increasingly concerned stares he just looked down at his tray and said, "'m sorry."

Steve gave the others a quizzical look and asked quietly, "For what? What's wrong?"

Tony looked back up at Steve's confused face and the others' concerned gazes. There seemed to be no resentment or blame in their faces (although who could really tell with the two assassins in the room), just worry. For him.

"I just . . . wasn't as hungry as I thought I was," Tony lied quickly and nudged the tray away just a bit, "Sorry, I couldn't finish."

"Oh," Steve said with some relief, "That's fine, I'll wrap it up and you can eat the rest later. Are you tired? Do you want to go back to your room?"

Tony shook his head, good mood returning with Steve's mothering, "I'm not tired."

"Good," Barton said from the other end of the table, "'Cuz the good doctor here is a fan of yours and we actually managed to drag him out into the open for a meet and greet," Clint reached over the table and patted Dr. Banner's arm, "Just don't get him over-excited. Gets awkward."

"Barton," Rogers said warningly, but Dr. Banner just nodded grudgingly.

"You're all very mysterious, you know that?" Tony asked irritably, "Steve here promised me the story of a lifetime and now I might be sitting at the table with Dr. Jeckle," Tony folded his arms as best he could with an IV still in his arm, "I'm about to have to start demanding answers."

Dr. Banner actually smiled for real, if barely, "I don't think my secrets are much of a secret anymore, really."

Clint snorted again and said casually, "It is pretty difficult to hide a giant mutant monster fight in the middle of Harlem."

At first Tony didn't understand. Then something clicked. _Harlem, giant . . . _Oh, yeah. That insane news report that most of the kids in his home at the time had thought was some new sci-fi movie until it started showing up on almost every channel.

"What did you have to do with that?" Tony asked, curiosity peaked and annoyance forgotten.

Dr. Banner gave a self-deprecating laugh and said, "Regrettably, I _was _that. The green one anyway." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dr. Banner glanced about uneasily and removed his glasses again.

Tony's mouth dropped open of its own accord, "Wait, you . . . _what_?"

Barton took pity on him and explained (probably less for Tony's benefit and because it would make Banner uncomfortable, but still), "Yeah, Doc here is a scientist specializing in gamma radiation and a few years back got a little too big for his britches . . . _literally_ – "

"_Clint_," Natasha warned, glancing warily at Dr. Banner.

"It's fine," the scientist said quickly, then looked at Tony, "An experiment gone wrong. But I have it under control." If Dr. Banner's voice sounded uncertain in that last part, Tony didn't notice. He was too busy forming a mental shrine to this man.

"Are you _serious?"_ Tony practically shrieked, "Dude, you're a _legend_! Every kid in my home started looking for your action figure after we saw those reports." Tony was gaping openly now much to Clint's amusement. Dr. Banner was sputtering for a response when Tony added, turning abruptly to Steve, "You can't top that." Clint started making noises like a dying seal and Steve flushed red.

Natasha thumped Clint on the arm as Dr. Banner finally got out, "_Action figure?"_ but couldn't seem to get further than that.

Steve also seemed to be struggling for words when Clint finally got control of himself enough to butt in, "Hey now, don't go disrespecting the Captain, kid. He's old enough to be your grandfather."

Tony blinked and wondered if Barton's sense of humor was always this confusing. Steve certainly didn't look older than maybe 25 at best. He _acted _like a knows-best stick in the mud sometimes but . . .

"It's a long story," Steve said when Tony turned to him for explanation.

"He's Captain America," Natasha cut in abruptly, "As in the original one. We dug him out of the ice a few months ago. He's been holed up here ever since." She smiled sweetly when Steve shot her a dirty look.

"What? No, that's not . . ." Tony's voice drifted off as he glanced around the table.

"You're sitting in the middle of a secret government organization," Clint said with barely concealed delight, "eating lunch with two master spies and a guy who is capable of turning into a giant green monster when he gets angry, but you draw the line at Captain America?"

"Can you stop calling me that?" Steve asked a bit irritably.

"Coulson's been geeking out ever since we found him," Clint continued as if Steve hadn't said anything.

Not that Tony heard. His already overactive brain was exploding. He had taken to staring down at his unfinished burger until someone started gently shaking his shoulder.

He looked up to see Steve (_Captain America_) saying, "Tony, you okay?" with increasing concern.

Finally, Tony mentally shook himself and quickly grabbed Steve's forearm, much to the Captain's worry. Everyone was looking at him weird now.

Tony ignored all of them and looked Steve in the eye seriously and said, "Steve . . . will you sign my trading cards?"

Clint immediately fell out of his chair.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not even sorry. Also, I have no clue how the foster system actually works, I just know what I know from movies etc. So any mistakes, please feel free to educate me.


End file.
